Chapter 30
"Each of us must face our darkness, and carve the worst of ourselves away."
—Legion of the Dead
Malcolm
Malcolm slumped against the closed door, strangely exhausted as he felt a cold sweat under his helm. Without a thought given to safety, he dropped his sword as he slid down. Then he tugged off his helm and dropped it somewhere near his sword, his armor suddenly too constricting. The sweat that had started on his forehead broke out over his entire body.
"The thing with the Chant," he said to Evangeline as he tried to keep his focus, "that was interesting."
"Your arm," said Evangeline.
"Not so interesting." Sodding hurt, though. The odor of rotten earth distinct to the Deep Roads didn't help, nor did the sweat he could feel rolling off him, nor did his inability to take off any other parts of his armor. For all his arm hadn't hurt before, the pain surged threefold, making up for earlier and then some. Just thinking about moving it hurt, and he wasn't someone unfamiliar with pain or fighting his way through it without complaint. What he couldn't figure out was the sweat and the pricks along his skin that were so hot they were cold, or so cold they were hot and it was confusing and he really needed to get out of his armor and into a blanket because he was sodding cold.
"No, I mean that I believe your arm requires attention, Warden."
"I've broken bones before," Malcolm said. "It isn't the most comfortable thing, but when you've got healers along, it isn't much worse than a skinned knee." He tried to wipe the sweat stinging at his eyes, but his gauntlets got in the way, and he couldn't take them off because now his left arm refused to sodding move. It would be like his limbs to rebel. "Rhys was a lot worse off."
Evangeline frowned at him as she leaned his shield against the bottom of the Deep Roads sealing door, and then glanced over at the crowd of mages, where the only ones who weren't dazed by shock were Karl and Wynne, who were urgently working on an ashen-faced Rhys. Even in his strange exhausted state, Malcolm didn't fail to notice the twinge of worry on Evangeline's face when her eyes fell upon Rhys.
No more or less likely than a Fereldan prince and a Dalish hunter, Malcolm supposed, and possibly just as difficult. At least they were both human, so they had that going for them.
Evangeline at least had enough insight to leave the healers to their work instead of interrupting to find out Rhys' status. She knelt and helped remove Malcolm's gloves and gauntlets, starting with the right. The moment his hand was free, he wiped the sweat from his clammy skin as Evangeline gently began to remove the glove from his left hand, the gauntlet already off and set aside.
"Oh, Maker's balls," she said in Orlesian. Malcolm wasn't sure he'd heard her swear like that before. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he noted that the swear sounded way better in Orlesian.
Evangeline's attention turned to two mages on the outer edge of the group, who seemed to be rousing from their shock. "Finn," she said. When he didn't answer, she repeated herself with more urgency. "Finn!"
Startled, he turned to look at her. "What?" Then he shook himself and strode over, his eyes already lighting on Malcolm and the clear reason for Evangeline's summons.
Malcolm still didn't see the need for their worry. It was just a broken arm. Wardens got things like this all the time. Maybe if he'd gotten hit in the head again there'd be cause for worry, but he'd managed to escape that kind of injury.
"Here, let me," said Finn as he knelt and took over for Evangeline. "Dig out a water flask or waterskin or something, please. Possibly some food. Clean rags."
"Clean rags? What—" Malcolm looked down as Finn started to slide the greave off the injured arm—and that bloody well hurt—and his protests quieted when he saw a disconcerting amount of blood dripping from the sleeve of his brigandine and onto the dusty paving stones. "Broken arms usually don't bleed that much, in my experience, and I've got a lot of experience." It didn't help him feel better when Finn said nothing as he tossed the greave aside and frowned at Malcolm's brigandine. "But you're good at fixing broken flesh things so it'll be fine."
"Broken flesh things?" he heard Adrian ask from where she stood above them.
"Shock," said Finn. "I think he's got an open fracture and a bone fragment might've nicked an artery. I'm at least sure it isn't torn, because he'd have bled out by now. His greave kept things as closed and aligned as possible, but there was a lot of twisting when he went down." He grumbled at the inflexibility of the brigandine. "Spiral fracture, so I need to see this one. We have to get this off him."
"Shouldn't you be healing Rhys?"
"Calling in two spirits at a time is asking for trouble. Better to have one spirit healer aided by regular healers, and then once the first spirit healer is depleted, have the second step in. Karl's a good healer, and it frees me up to help others, such as you with your nasty injury."
"It's just a broken arm. Heal it and let's get on with things. I'm not taking off more of my sodding armor than I already have."
"It's a spiral fracture," Finn said again. "Like when you take a stick and twist it until it snaps, leaving everything jagged and nothing even and one of those jagged pieces has left your artery dripping enough blood to put a Grey Warden into shock."
"Right, like you said, a broken arm."
Evangeline returned, arms burdened with rags, a couple flasks, and trail food. She also had Irving at her side. "I brought help," she said to Finn.
"I'm not a spirit healer, but I certainly know a thing or two about healing." Irving knelt on the opposite side of Malcolm from Finn. "And the Seekers had the decency to leave me be, unlike many of the others."
"Probably because you're old," said Malcolm.
"See," said Finn, "shock."
Irving chuckled, even through the furrow of concern forming on his brow. "I'm not so sure."
"I think I should be insulted." Malcolm looked up at Evangeline, who might be on his side since she wasn't a mage. "Should I be insulted?"
"Not by the truth, no."
"That was mean." Malcolm turned his attention to the increasingly worried Finn and Irving. "And even though she's mean, you should probably check her for a concussion. I know about blows to the head and their results, and the Lord Seeker got her hard enough to dent her helm."
"My injuries will keep," said Evangeline.
"She's right," Finn said before Malcolm could voice his disagreement. "Can you tell if there's darkspawn about?"
Malcolm closed an eye as he reached out along the taint. "Nope." Which was good, he supposed, since he wouldn't be much help in a fight unless they threw him at the darkspawn. Throwing him would take Shale and Evangeline. Or just Shale, who he could see had already gone to the end of the short tunnel and stood in the intersection to keep watch. Smart woman, that Shale. Or smart golem. Or both.
"Can the Seekers get in?" Irving asked as he started in on removing the armor from Malcolm's uninjured arm.
"Not unless they get a Warden, and I doubt any would be amenable to it."
"They could force them," said Evangeline.
Malcolm laughed, even as his vision started to get dodgy. "No, they really couldn't." Then he realized that Irving had taken off the glove and gauntlet rather quickly, and was already on his pauldron and rerebrace. "Leliana didn't get the griffon book," he said to Finn.
Finn kept pace with Irving and the armor continued to be removed and tossed aside. "So, in the end, you did steal it."
"But it's in a Circle." With more of his armor coming off, he'd started to get cold, which seemed strange to him since he'd just been overly hot. Yet he felt like he was still sweating, and the whole thing made him anxious and he couldn't figure out why. So he kept talking. "Sure, the book's in the Spire, but it's still a Circle. So maybe it's more like an inter-Circle loan? Is that a thing?"
"It…" Finn paused. "It is, actually." He sighed and set aside the cuirass that Irving handed to him. "I suppose that means you aren't a thief. Just a common vandal."
"Ha! I win! I think." He frowned as Irving unsnapped his gorget. Malcolm wanted to help, but found that he hadn't the energy to. "Maybe not?"
"As long as you remain conscious, we'll call it a win." Finn motioned Evangeline over and started giving her various instructions on how she could help. It sounded very professional, to Malcolm.
"Wow, that sounds like healer talk," he said out loud.
"I am one, you know. Spirit healer and everything." Finn did sound more than a little indignant.
"I know you are, Flora." Then Malcolm realized his sword belt had been unbuckled and tossed on the pile of armor pieces, and now Finn and Irving were working on the ties and toggles on his brigandine. "Oh, that nickname is a lot more awkward when you're undressing me. Usually I do this myself. Or my wife does, depending. And she's really quick about it, too, especially—"
"I really don't want to hear about your relations with your wife," said Finn. "And this'll probably hurt, but it's the only way to get this bloody thing off you without cutting it."
"Literally bloody," Malcolm said as he felt Evangeline gently pushing him forward, giving Irving and Finn enough room to slide off the brigandine's sleeves, and Holy Mother of Andraste did it hurt. His vision swam as he heard Finn cursing and Irving saying he'd got it and Malcolm wasn't sure if he imagined it or it'd happened, and the darkness seemed to have gotten closer.
He really missed Líadan. Thinking about her sort of helped with the darkness, though it really wanted to wrap him up.
"Oh, no, you don't get to slip away like that," said Finn. "Not when we're almost done. Keep answering questions. You didn't get the griffon book—"
"Sorry about that, First Enchanter," Malcolm said to Irving.
"I believe Kinloch Hold's library can withstand the loss of a single book about griffons." Irving, with Evangeline's help, settled Malcolm against the giant door again. "We have several."
"Don't tell Wynne." Malcolm did his best to sound conspiratorial, but the sounds around him seemed muffled, like he was underwater. "She hates—actually, on second thought, do tell her. Then wait for…" He couldn't remember what he was telling Irving to be waiting for. It'd been right there and now it wasn't and where had it gone?
The wall on the far side of the tunnel looked like it was shimmering, which seemed more than a little odd.
"Did Leliana put your Warden journal in your pack?" asked Finn.
The question startled Malcolm out of falling asleep. Or falling unconscious, since he wasn't sure which it would've been. "No, I don't think so. Didn't see it." He wanted to go back to talking about Líadan again, but Finn seemed so against it.
"Would that be a problem?" Irving asked as Finn concentrated on Malcolm's arm. "The Seekers will get hold of that journal if it was left behind."
Malcolm attempted to shrug, but Evangeline's ridiculously strong hands pressing down on his shoulders kept him still. He started to give her a dirty look, but it made him too dizzy and he settled for sighing. "It's in a cypher. They'll have it, but they won't be able to do shit with it, except maybe fuel a fire, I suppose." He glanced over toward the crowd of mages, not really caring about a journal of abandoned Warden fortresses. "How many did we get?"
"More than we thought, but not as many as we would have liked," said Evangeline.
Then Finn freely manipulated Malcolm's arm, which caused a not insignificant amount of pain, and Malcolm jumped.
"Sit still," said Finn. "You should be able to do that. Sitting still is easy."
"Easy for you, you mean. You're not the one who's having a broken arm carelessly thrown this way and that."
Finn raised an eyebrow. "You want me to finish healing it or not?"
"You want me to kill darkspawn or not?"
Finn sighed and sat back on his heels. "I've gotten the bleeding stopped, and he should be getting out of shock instead of getting into it now, but we're going to have to set his arm before I can do anything else."
"How do you even set a fracture like that?" asked Evangeline.
"More like get it into a somewhat normal position and work on it from there. It's worse than a normal set, where it's over and done after the one time. This'll take—"
"It'll hurt, won't it?" asked Malcolm.
"Yes, I daresay it will." Irving glanced over toward Shale, and then looked at Malcolm again. "And you are certain there are no darkspawn lurking about?"
"If they were within a day of us, I'd know already. We're fine for at least that long."
Irving nodded. "Good. Then we needn't worry about them sneaking up on us while you're asleep."
"While I'm—?"
When he awakened, he was spread out on a bedroll, feeling incredibly thirsty and exhausted and it honestly felt like a hangover. His arm didn't hurt though, so there was that. However, it seemed it was the only part of him that didn't hurt, as every other bit of his body complained loudly when he sat up. It was quiet around him, though. It seemed everyone had decided it was nap time, and there were few who remained awake. Shale still stood watch out in the intersection, her red crystals glowing dimly in the encroaching shadows.
Rhys was on a bedroll next to him, his face starkly pale, but his chest rising and falling, which Malcolm took as a good sign. Evangeline had fallen asleep on the bedroll beside him, while Adrian sat on another, closer to the foot of Malcolm's, and glared balefully at the sleeping templar.
Well. Certainly no bad blood between them, not at all.
"Drink this," Adrian said quietly, breaking off her glaring in favor of looking at Malcolm as she handed him a flask. "As much as you can, by the way," she added once he started drinking.
Like he was going to disobey that request. He hadn't been this thirsty in ages.
When he put the flask down, Adrian had already deposited bread and cheese and a strip of dried meat on the blanket in front of him. "Then eat." She laughed quietly at his puzzled look. "Orders from Finn. He said when someone loses as much blood as you did, you have to build the fluids back up, which means water, and rebuilding the energy you lost, hence the food."
"I rarely need to be encouraged to eat."
"Finn told me it's a Warden thing."
"He's right." As he ate, Malcolm continued to assess the number and strength of their group, knowing they'd need to start towards Orzammar sooner rather than later. While he wasn't worried about the Seekers getting through the sealed doors, he did worry about food. They had only so much for supplies, and then they'd have to hope they found the Legion, or stumbled on some nugs. He supposed deepstalkers were a possibility, but Sigrun had told him more than once that deepstalker meat tended to be a last resort, barely one step above anything blighted.
The ten or so children whom Evangeline's party had scooped up as they left the Spire sat in the middle of the scattered bedrolls of the adult mages. Not a single one of the children were asleep. They looked absolutely terrified, and he honestly couldn't blame them. He also had no idea how he was going to keep children from getting themselves tainted in the Deep Roads. All—he counted—eleven of them looked to be only a few years older than his children. It wasn't like he expected them to shrug off instructions or rules, it was just that kids tended to forget sometimes. All right, adults did too, but kids were more liable to do so. And the consequences of forgetting in the Deep Roads were severe. While he could put tainted adults through the Joining, he didn't know if he could do that to a child, yet he wasn't sure he couldn't refuse them the chance at living.
Adrian noticed his study of the children. "They're upset."
"No shit."
His irritated reply earned a frown from her, and then she let go of it and shrugged. "Look, I'm one of the only ones awake right now and I've never been good with children. I have no idea what to do, and they haven't exactly opened up so I can figure it what I can do. You'd know better than I would since you have kids of your own."
"Upset is a good guess and probably right." He frowned. "Wynne didn't talk to them? She's usually really good at keeping kids calm. She kept a whole room full of them safe and protected in Kinloch Hold when all that shit went down with the blood mages. She even threatened me and my brother and the rest of us when we got there. Thought we were the start of an Annulment, and would be having none of that. Clearly, we managed to convince her we meant no harm. Otherwise, I'd be dead right now."
"She's sleeping." Adrian's reply lacked the bite Malcolm was used to from her over the weeks, and he wondered if she'd used up all her anger during the battles with the Seekers. "She expended a lot of energy healing Rhys, her and Karl both. And with everyone else exhausted from the escape, we decided to rest here before moving further into the Deep Roads."
Done with his food, he tested out his arm and hand, which seemed perfectly fine. There wasn't even a scar, though his brigandine beside him had an awful lot of blood on it, especially the left sleeve. He doubted most of it would ever come out. Not wanting to think of his own injuries, he turned his attention to Rhys again. "How bad was he hurt?"
"Wynne mentioned a head injury of yours that took a while to heal, right?" asked Adrian.
"Yes."
"From what I could gather, it was a lot like that. They were able to fix him up, but it'll take a while for him to recover fully." She paused, and her look at Rhys seemed to carry an astonishing amount of guilt. "He may never recover entirely. We won't know until he wakes up, and we don't know when that will be."
Malcolm stood, suddenly unable to remain still. "He went without aid for too long, didn't he?"
She tossed the flask onto an open pack. "Yes." Adrian paused at Malcolm's quickly inhaled breath, but recovered. "What we do know is that he needs to get to Orzammar as quickly and smoothly as we can get him there, and that means no Kirkwall for him."
"I gathered." Though Malcolm harbored no ill will toward her, because that was all for the Lord Seeker at the moment, he couldn't tamp down the spike of anger. Fear, really, if he were being honest. If the worst had happened in Kirkwall, he had to hope Rhys recovered enough to teach others or do the reversal himself. Even then, if the worst had happened, there would be the entire trip from Kirkwall to Orzammar traveling with people who resembled his wife, who possibly resembled his daughter, but were truly not themselves. Empty shells, all the way to Orzammar.
Malcolm spun on his heel and strode away before he said something nasty to someone who didn't deserve it. He wanted to shout and curse and possibly throw things, but he couldn't. There were eleven children staring at him with big, terrified eyes, and they needed to be able to trust him if he was going to get them through the Deep Roads without being killed or tainted. And if they saw him lose his temper over something they could never understand, they would never trust him, because right now they were far too vulnerable.
He got halfway to Shale before he heard footsteps behind him. They were heavier than Adrian's, and louder than any of the mages and their lack of sabatons, which meant it was Evangeline.
When he turned, he noticed that she looked as drawn and tired as he felt. "How's the head?" he asked once she got close enough.
"It doesn't hurt. Finn did advise me to refrain from getting hit there again." She inclined her head toward him. "And your arm?"
He held it up and wriggled his fingers. "Seems fine. The bloodstains will never come out of my brigandine, though. Especially since we'll be down here for so long and I won't really have a chance to wash it."
"How long?"
Malcolm considered the two dark paths in the Roads, and then shrugged. "A week? Maybe two. Hard to tell. It'll be quicker if we find the Legion." He frowned. "When we find the Legion. We really do need to find the Legion. I'm hoping there's at least a company between here and Orzammar."
Evangeline shared in his frown. "Which way do we go?"
"Either south or east. Preferably southeast, but if we have to choose, I'd say east."
"And south and east are where, precisely?"
It took him a moment to orient himself, recalling the directions the Spire had faced and the Deep Roads entrance in relation to it, but he managed. Then he pointed the opposite way from where Evangeline had been looking. "That way. Not dead on southeast, but more than slightly."
"Perhaps the insipid prince possesses a smidgen of stone sense," Shale said as she lumbered over to them. "It is right. That is the direction for Orzammar. Fortunately for it, golems still have stone sense."
"Thank the Maker for you, Shale," said Malcolm.
"It should thank the Stone for me."
Recognizing the opportunity for much needed levity, Malcolm made a big production of striding over to the wall, arms out, and then he mimicked hugging it. "Thank you, Revered Stone, for blessing us with a golem possessing of a scathing wit, a penchant for catty comments, the intelligence of all the deshyrs combined, and a heart of gold wrapped up in all that granite." He heard some of the children quietly laugh, and he decided it was worth the potential embarrassment.
"It did not need to be so effusive in its praise," said Shale. "A simple thank you would have done nicely."
"Well, I'm not about half-measures."
"I shall keep that in mind." Shale opted to wait to continue the conversation until Malcolm left the wall and returned to where she stood next to Evangeline. "When does it intend on leaving?"
He shrugged. "Whenever everyone is ready to go, which will probably be whenever everyone isn't so exhausted that they can't walk under their own power." Movement caught his eye—it seemed the mages were rousing. With that development, he suspected they'd be able to get underway soon. Then he sighed as his gaze caught the awful stillness of Rhys' form. "Except Rhys, of course. We'll have to make a travois or something to transport him. Maybe lash together some pack frames, lash a bedroll between the poles, and then have a couple burly mages drag it very, very gently, unless a few burly mages feel like carrying the whole thing on their shoulders."
"It does not think to ask me?" said Shale.
"We both know we're all better off with you having your hands free when the darkspawn attack."
Shale gave a rumble of agreement, while Evangeline said, "When? When the darkspawn attack?"
"Has the righteous templar forgotten we are in the Deep Roads? What is the human expression? While in the Deep Roads, one cannot swing a dead cat without hitting darkspawn? I believe that is how it goes."
As Evangeline gaped at Shale, Malcolm felt compelled to explain further. "What she really means it that being attacked by darkspawn is an inevitability down here. We know it'll happen. The only thing we don't know is when."
"The elder mage approaches," said Shale, looking over Malcolm and Evangeline's heads. "It appears determined."
When Malcolm saw Wynne's expression, he knew their group would be leaving shortly. Behind her, the rest of the mages were getting to their feet, checking packs, checking in with the children, gathering up bedrolls, and distributing more healing supplies. While Karl was the Grand Enchanter, he did not seem to be the organizational leader that Wynne was.
To be fair, nobody was the organizational leader Wynne was.
Without so much as a greeting, once Wynne reached Malcolm, Shale, and Evangeline, she summoned her magic and lifted Malcolm's arm. Inspection time, it seemed.
"Does it pass muster?" Malcolm asked once Wynne's magic had faded.
"Finn did a fine job." Wynne's voice might've sounded a little rough, but nothing beyond what could be attributed to a lengthy battle followed by sprinting followed by an extended healing session. "When Irving told me the extent of your injury, I feared you'd lose some function in your arm."
Malcolm's thoughts went immediately to his sister-in-law, Meghan, and the injury she'd sustained the night she'd narrowly escaped being killed with the rest of her family in Starkhaven. She'd rejected any other attempts at magical healing beyond the first patch job, and as a result, the movement and feeling in her hand and arm were permanently impaired. "Nope," he said out loud. "Finn did a really good job. I think we've been underestimating him."
"I believe you may be right." She'd glanced over at Finn as Malcolm had spoken, but returned to face him. "Still, keep your fluid intake up. While magic can prevent you from dying as long as there's some blood in you, magic can't replace the blood lost—only your body can."
"Got it. Drink lots." Then he frowned. "That'll mean more privy breaks."
"Which I'm sure the children will appreciate."
"Yes, but that'll just be one thing of many when it comes to them. This entire trip is going to be a huge lesson in keeping your hands to yourself and for the love of the Maker don't touch anything."
"I presume you heard that a lot as a child?" asked Evangeline.
He resisted the temptation to narrow his eyes at her. He very well knew she was referring back to the incident with the tied-up abomination, and he wouldn't take the bait. "Heard? I still hear it. I haven't been allowed to go into the Wonders of Thedas for years. Which means," he said as he turned to Wynne, "you should probably speak to the children instead of me. You have that 'no arguing with me I'm a teacher' sort of look, one that's really hard to master yet incredibly effective, so they'll listen to you."
"Yet, you are a Grey Warden. I believe they will heed your words of caution more than mine."
"They do seem to look up to you," said Evangeline.
He rolled his eyes. "That's because I'm taller than them, and because some of them think I'm hiding a griffon in my pack or something."
"Is it?" asked Shale.
"No, but that would be really awesome, wouldn't it?"
Shale nodded. "I certainly think so."
But the levity did nothing to sway Wynne. She pursed her lips and lifted her chin, and Malcolm groaned at the coming argument.
In the end, he spoke with the children. As it turned out, they were much better at following directions than the adults were. The first day alone resulted in two mages being tainted, leaving Malcolm both happy and frustrated that Leliana had thought to remember his Joining kit. As soon as Adrian heard that he'd offered the Joining to both mages—though he thought them incredibly sodding stupid to ignore a Grey Warden's warnings in the sodding Deep Roads and he only offered because the order always needed mages, and because Wynne had given him that look—Adrian was on him about wanting the same chance.
She did not like it when he told her no. She also glared at the mage who turned down the Joining, only relenting in her glare when the man requested a mercy killing. Malcolm had obliged, and then was left to bumble through an explanation to horrified and curious children, because it would be an insult if he did not tell them truth after what they'd seen. While Malcolm believed in softening blows from the truth, he didn't believe in hiding the truth entirely. What happened with the two adult mages also served as good examples of what could happen if they didn't listen to what the Warden told them.
Someone, either Wynne or Finn, he suspected, or possibly Karl, had informed the children that he was an actual prince, and not only that, but he was one of the actual princes who fought against the actual Archdemon in the actual Battle of Denerim—the children had been understandably skeptical and had demanded numerous oaths to the truth, hence a lot of 'actuals.' So then they wanted stories. Lots of stories, and they clumped around him whenever they stopped for a long rest that served as 'night' in the Deep Roads, and they wouldn't stop asking until he gave in. He gave in because they were in the Deep Roads and needed the distraction, though he shot Wynne, Finn, and Karl dirty looks before he ventured into each story.
Stories from the Blight, he realized, required an awful lot of creative editing when it came to retelling them to kids. When he wasn't telling stories, he had Cáel's book out and was mapping what he could from the path they took, including crossings and where walls had fallen and where they'd been tunneled through. Maybe it would help other Wardens, maybe not, but it gave him something else to do to occupy his mind.
His mind wandered enough when he kept watch. The second night wasn't as bad because he took the opportunity to tell the mage who'd survived the Joining all about his new profession as a Grey Warden. During half the explanation, Serge looked positively ill, but Malcolm informed him that it was his own damn fault for not listening and to quit being squeamish, because it only got worse.
Malcolm felt slightly guilty when the topic of broodmothers caused Serge to lose the contents of his stomach. He couldn't wait for Hildur to get hold of him, but that'd be up to the Senior Wardens in the Orzammar compound. Thick as thieves—and they were thieves, Sigrun had pointed out—Natia and Leske ran the compound together and ran it well. Natia, especially, would have fun with Serge and his squeamishness. And they'd be the ones to continue Serge's Warden education, because Malcolm had no intentions of bringing him to Kirkwall.
"He doesn't seem very Warden-like," Finn said about him as they continued their trudge through the Deep Roads the next day. "It's like if I were to become a Warden, only worse."
"You want to?" Malcolm asked. Having another spirit healer would be a great advantage, he'd be able to antagonize Finn more, and he was fairly certain Finn would survive the Joining. They really had all underestimated him. Probably the fault of the fainting at the sight of his own blood thing.
"No," said Finn. "No. No, thank you. All that darkspawn and blight and taint and it's all terribly dirty and no."
"Probably for the best, considering your problem with blood."
"As long as it isn't my—"
Dark whispering overtook Finn's protest, and while Malcolm raised his left hand to quiet his friend, the right went to the grip of his sword. "Shit," he said when he couldn't deny what he felt through the taint. Decent sized group, too. One an emissary, but he couldn't sense an ogre, thankfully. Though the numbers alone could've done them in, if they'd been a typical expedition.
But they weren't. Malcolm had lots of mages at his disposal. Lots, and they ruled the battlefield. His biggest concern would be keeping them all alive and the darkspawn well away from them. He really didn't want to have to go through any additional mercy killings or Joinings.
"Time to meet your first darkspawn!" Malcolm called over his shoulder. "If you don't have your staves out, get them out. Start prepping spells if you've got any long ones. You'll want the highest damaging ones you can muster. Group up in a circle, with the injured and the children in the middle." When he saw some of the children start to object—honestly, the oldest was twelve at best, fighting didn't need to be their job—he shut her down. "I don't care if you've got the best fireball spell this side of Thedas. You stay behind the adults and stay alive. That's your job. Stay alive and preferably untainted."
"How many?" Wynne asked as the others readied for the fight.
"Large party, running at us from the south. Luckily, just from that direction, so no flanking from them. One emissary, and I don't think any ogres. Evangeline and I can throw smites at it, and then one of you can finish it off with lightning or something. Be creative, if you want, but just make sure you kill it." He frowned as the darkspawn got closer and the mages were moving slower than sodding molasses in the Frostbacks. "Hurry!" he shouted at them. "Get your defenses up before they get here!"
He grumbled under his breath as he tossed down his pack and strapped his shield on. "Wynne, can you and Karl hit them or something? Smack some sense into them?"
"I doubt it would do any good," Karl said from nearby. "There are times when I believe the title of Grand Enchanter is nominal."
"Oh, now you say so." Malcolm pointed at the cluster of mages who were finally forming a circle. "The lot of you, stay back," he yelled at them, the darkspawn getting closer with every word. "Stay here. Shale, Evangeline, and I will do our best to stay between you and the darkspawn."
"You won't let us fight?" someone asked.
"What? Yes, you can fight. In fact, we need you to fight. Just do it from back there."
Unsurprisingly, it wasn't one of the children who asked, "Why?"
Exasperated, he gestured with his hand as he sought an explanation. "Because you're…"
"The term it is looking for is 'squishy,'" said Shale. "Flesh in general is squishy. Mages are particularly squishy. The insipid prince and the righteous templar wear armor, which makes them slightly less squishy."
"Right," said Malcolm. "What she said. Squishy."
"So what do we do from back here?" asked someone else.
"Rain death on the darkspawn. Fire, ice, lightning, whatever. Just make sure they die and we don't." After he put on his helm, he glanced over toward the dark corner where the darkspawn would emerge from the shadows. "Be ready. They're nearly here."
Then they were. The darkspawn poured around the bend in the road, weapons out and flailing. Karl began to direct magical attacks from his mages while Shale lumbered in to start her gleeful squishing. Behind Shale, Malcolm and Evangeline scanned the mob for the emissary.
But the emissary must have started his casting before he'd even emerged from the shadows, because he flung out his first well-directed spell before either of them could locate him in the crowd. Evangeline cursed, her smite having been only half-ready, with Malcolm's further behind. The both tried to dodge, but the crushing prison jerked Evangeline into the air.
Malcolm tossed a cleanse her way, hoping it would be strong enough to release her. The telltale thump of an armored body hitting the ground told him it was, but gave him no clue as to the damage done to the victim. Instead of checking, he decided neutralizing the emissary was the more urgent task. He recalled his smite and hurled it onto the emissary, bowling it over. A spike of lightning from Karl ended its threat. Imminent danger having passed, Malcolm spared a glance at Evangeline, who was getting to her feet with impressive speed, considering.
"I didn't know you could do that," she said as she shook out her limbs.
"The cleansing thing?" Malcolm dashed a few steps to his right to cut off a shriek who'd tried to get to the mages.
Evangeline lopped the head of a genlock with a swooping blow from her two-hander. "Yes."
"Learned it during the Blight because of exactly what just happened to you. Eventually, people fighting alongside you get really tired of writhing in pain while being suspended in the air."
"Prudent."
Conversation halted as the darkspawn pressed harder, and it took all their attention to keep track of which ones tried to dart past them or flank in order to reach the people doing the real damage. The darkspawn fell in droves to the mages' magic, a spectacular show of the power and potential left to waste away in Circles. Malcolm felt like cheering at how fast the darkspawn were taken out, his job just to knock intrepid ones back into their friends, only to get burned up with them, or frozen solid before Shale shattered them with stony fists.
The sheer amount of magic made the battle pass quickly, almost like it had been imagined. The number of darkspawn bodies scattered and smoking on the paving stone of the Deep Roads said otherwise, as well as the background whisper of the taint from the last of the dying darkspawn.
"The Wardens really need more mages," Malcolm said to Shale as they began to assess the killing field. While burning darkspawn bodies wasn't necessary in the Deep Roads—often, it was counterproductive by clouding the air with smoke and attracting the attention of either more darkspawn or other nasty Deep Roads creatures—this was a particularly large glut of dead darkspawn. A path would have to be created if they wanted to get their entire group through it without anyone becoming accidentally tainted.
"It could conscript all the squishy mages with it now," said Shale.
"They'd kill me."
"The elder mage would be irritated, it's true." Using her feet, Shale shoved several darkspawn bodies aside, piling them next to one of the walls. "Perhaps it should break more mages out of additional Circles? Certainly there would be some grateful enough to join your order."
"No, that'd just provoke outright war between the Wardens and the Chantry."
"After what happened at the Spire, and if what it believes about its family is true, is there not already war?"
"Not yet." Malcolm went to help Shale move the bodies, but she shooed him out of the way.
"Only because the Wardens have not heard the extent of it."
He sighed. "True." While a war with the Chantry would certainly have a brighter side, such as less interference, meaning he could live at home with his whole family, Thedas thrown into chaos wasn't something he looked forward to. It carried its own dangers, ones that were a lot harder to predict.
"If it is reluctant to gain more mages by rescuing them, perhaps it should reconsider the angry mage's request?"
"You know what? I think I'm going to tell Hildur about Adrian, and then Hildur can decide."
"A wise choice. It is smarter than it looks."
Before he could roll his eyes at Shale, a scream came from one of the children.
Malcolm turned to find that a lone shriek had flanked them, managing to keep absolutely silent and hidden in the shadows, using the echoes of the taint from the dying darkspawn to hide its own, lurking until their guards were down. The shriek howled and lunged at the stricken children. Serge leapt between the darkspawn and the nearest child, his chest taking the blow meant for the girl as the shriek's claws dug in deep.
As Serge pushed the shriek's foaming mouth away from his face, he managed to channel lightning through his fingertips. The jolt arced through the shriek's entire body, and then exited through its claws and into Serge. Both mage and darkspawn were dead before they hit the ground. A few more children screamed. Wynne and some of the other older mages drew them back, away from the bodies, doing their best to calm them.
It appeared they'd be burning at least one body before they set out again. Already halfway there with his sword out, Malcolm finished the walk as he sheathed it. Serge had done the work for him, and now he'd have to prepare his body for the earliest Calling imaginable. He took care of the shriek first, gloved hands grabbing it by its ratty, patched-together leather armor before he dragged it to a dark corner. Then came the task of deciding how to best deal with Serge's body. Squeamish as the man had been, he hadn't shirked his duty as a Warden, not when he directly blocked a darkspawn from taking an innocent child. After removing his helm and chucking it onto the pile of packs, Malcolm took a knee beside the mage's body, and decided the best way had to be what they'd done with Ser Ava outside the Architect's lair. No actual pyre, just burning the body using magic, and saying whatever words of prayer over it. It wasn't much, but it was certainly more than a Warden unfortunate enough to undergo a Calling would get.
"Malcolm," said Wynne.
Something in the tone of her voice—quiet, yet urgent—caused him to snap his head up immediately. "What?" he asked, desperately trying to keep the worry out of his own voice because it would panic the children further.
"One of them was clawed."
Already, the other children had backed away from the one unlucky enough to have the shriek's flailing claws catch her. Kneeling at her side, Wynne held the young, trembling girl by the arm, just above an oozing slash through cloth and skin. Wynne's eyes on Malcolm trembled with their own fear.
From where he stood, Malcolm couldn't tell if the girl had been tainted. And if she had been, he had no idea what he should do. They'd never really covered this sort of scenario when it came to impromptu Joinings.
"She's nine," said Evangeline, as if she knew what he was considering.
"Then let's hope." He left the rest unsaid. If the child was tainted, he had no idea what he'd do, or even what he was supposed to do. First would be to find out if considering the rest was even necessary. He stood up slowly, hoping that easy movement would be less frightening than anything frenetic. He forced his limbs to relax so his gait wouldn't resemble stalking. As he walked over, he took off his gloves as a way of distracting himself, and because being ungloved appeared much more honest and humane than leaving them on. Besides, he didn't have to worry about being tainted since he already was.
When he reached Wynne and the child, he crouched down to eye level with the girl. Despite his attempts at appearing non-threatening, the girl's eyes had grown impossibly wide and more fearful during his approach.
"Show the Warden your injury," Wynne said to the girl.
The girl didn't move, her eyes flicking back and forth between them.
Malcolm certainly could recognize child frightened near to death when he saw one. Cáel and Ava had shared much the same expression when they'd learned that Ava's secret was out. Like he would have done for them, he attempted to soothe her by putting her at ease. "My name's Malcolm," he said to her, replacing the edge of anxiety in his voice with warmth. "What's yours?"
"Katell," she said almost inaudibly.
"Well," he said as he peered at her forearm without touching it, "you'll be glad to know that you haven't contracted the blight sickness. Just a nasty cut that Senior Enchanter Wynne can fix right up."
Around them, he heard sighs of relief, and could practically hear the ones held in.
At first Katell seemed dubious, but when he offered her a smile, she relaxed a little. "Will I have a scar?"
"Depends on if you want one or not. Wynne's really good at healing, so if you want a scar, you have to tell her first, or no one would ever be able to tell you were hurt in the first place."
Katell pursed her lips as she looked at her arm. Then she said, "I don't think I want one, Warden."
"That's perfectly all right," said Malcolm. "Not everyone has to be all scarred up like a Grey Warden. And you can call me 'Malcolm,' not 'Warden.'"
"Senior Enchanter Wynne told us to call you Warden," said Katell.
"Well, you can tell her that I said it was all right to use my name." Malcolm's smile grew bigger in response to the lightening of Katell's mood. "And if she has a problem with it, she can come talk to me."
Wynne had started in with her healing, but managed to spare a moment to fire a disapproving glare at him, which he ignored.
Katell finally smiled as her wound closed up entirely, first the red of newly-healed skin, and then it looked just the same as the rest of the skin on her arm, as if she'd never run into a shriek in the first place. When her look shifted back to him, it had gained some mischievousness. "Will you be telling more stories tonight?"
It was his turn to glare at Wynne when he heard her quietly chuckle behind her hand. Then he lightly said to Katell, "I might even tell you ones with griffons in them."
When released from Wynne's grasp, the girl practically skipped to the other children, where they stared at her ripped sleeve with awe.
"I think you made a friend," Wynne said as she moved to stand next to him.
"She wouldn't be if she knew I'd been thinking about making her a Grey Warden."
Wynne bit off the reply she'd intended in favor of raising an eyebrow at him. "Truly? Malcolm, she's only nine."
"I know. Evangeline told me. And while the Joining is really not awesome, you and I both know about the changes to the Joining potion that've made life for Wardens a whole lot easier. Sure, there's still the darkspawn taint involved, but most Wardens aren't going to have to go on Callings, and more than a lucky few can actually have families. So if she'd lived through it, I wouldn't be condemning her to an early pyre. I think it'd be better than dying right now, in the Deep Roads, where no child should be in the first place, much less spend their final hours this side of the Fade."
"It… all right, it does seem a better option than I'd previously thought."
"Not that it didn't feel weird to think about, subjecting a kid to it. But a fighting chance has to be better than no chance at all, right?"
"Yes. It is. I'd forgotten how the new potion reduced the worst side effects."
He gave her a small smile. "Hey, without that new potion, Alistair and Anora might not've had Callum. I'm all for getting my kid as far from inheriting that throne as possible. Not that I don't love my nephew, but you know what I mean." Then his attention drifted to the chattering children, and his good humor faded as he was momentarily struck by the sadness that Cáel and Ava would be the only ones he and Líadan would have.
Before he could quickly shake it off, as he normally did because he did respect his wife's position on the matter, Wynne spoke up. "You wanted more, didn't you?"
"You already know the answer to that," he said, doing the best he could to keep the remonstration out of his tone. "And you already know why we didn't."
Wynne made an annoyed sound. "And you and I both know those rules were changed for Dalish Wardens."
"She still feels beholden to the rules she was raised with, and I respect that. It's her call, not mine. Besides, I need to go rescue the ones I have, along with their mother. Definitely not the time to even be dreaming about more." He didn't want to talk about it anymore, and Wynne seemed determined to make some sort of point. But his point was that it didn't matter right now because of what could be happening to Líadan and their actual living, breathing children. "Come on, help me take care of Serge's body."
The group finished tending to the wounded, gathered up their supplies, had a pyre for Serge, and then set off again. Katell took to being Malcolm's shadow whenever allowed, either while on their walk through the Deep Roads, or listening closely to whatever story the children managed to get out of him when they stopped for an extended rest. While he didn't mind the girl's fondness, it made him miss his own daughter something fierce.
"Is it hard to protect all of us?" Katell asked at the next evening's camp. "Knight-Captain Evangeline says you're the only Warden, which means you're the only one who knows that darkspawn are coming. It sounds like it's really hard."
"In some ways, sure. In other ways, not so much. It isn't like I want the darkspawn to get hold of any of you. But I'm not quite the only one who can tell if darkspawn are coming. My sword can, too. That's why whatever grown-up on watch who isn't me holds my sword, even if they don't know how to use it." And Malcolm was fairly certain that none of the mages with them had been taught swordsmanship. Wynne knew a little bit from basic defensive lessons Zevran had given her with a dagger during the Blight, but that was all.
"Why?" asked Katell.
He grinned. "I'll show you. It's kind of cool." Then he reached over, grabbed his sheathed sword, and pulled it out. The colored runes reflected the fire's light, but didn't cause them to glow, probably because glowing meant something else. "See these runes? If darkspawn are close, they'll glow. The closer the darkspawn get, the brighter the runes get. Not as good as having a Warden or three along, but better than nothing."
"It's a pretty sword."
Malcolm gave it another look. "I suppose it is."
"It is." Then one of the mages hustled the child into the bedroll to get some sleep before they had to strike camp yet again.
Malcolm leaned back on his arms and let out a long sigh. While protecting the mages wasn't hard, not with their firepower, it was definitely tiring. To him, it'd felt irresponsible to not take at least one watch every night, and so he'd stood one each night, but it was admittedly catching up to him. Once they met up with the Legion, he planned on letting them taking the majority of the watches. They had a system and they knew what they were doing. Likely, they even had some runes like his sword did.
When they ran into a battalion of the Legion a couple days later, Malcolm nearly hugged their commander. Some of the children actually did, and the expression of surprise on the commander's face made Malcolm burst into laughter.