Chapter 34
"The templar's quest ended there, at the feet of the Witch and her dark daughter. Ever since, all have known never to ask after the Witch of the Wilds, never to seek the one named Flemeth, lest they find her."
— The Witch of the Wilds, as told by the minstrel Ensuelo
Marian
Marian couldn't seem to convince anyone of anything and wondered why she bothered trying in the first place. Then she wondered why she bothered trying in the second, third, and fourth places, and she'd hadn't bothered to keep count afterward. But there were people she didn't want to leave behind in Kirkwall, and those people didn't quite seem to believe that she was either truly leaving, or that Kirkwall was dangerous for everyone, not just the people who strolled around Lowtown at night, or Darktown anytime, ever.
Even her own mother didn't seem to believe she was leaving until today, when Marian actively and blatantly began to pack possessions of hers into crates for shipment to Starkhaven.
"Oh, you are leaving," Leandra said from the doorway at the top of the cellar's stairs, as if she'd just discovered a rather boring new hobby of Marian's.
Granted, packing would be a boring hobby, were it one.
"It isn't like I haven't been telling you that for ages, Mother," said Marian.
"I didn't think you'd go through with it."
"Just like you thought Sebastian would never leave the Chantry?"
"Dear, be fair. You didn't believe Sebastian would leave the Chantry, either."
Instead of acknowledging that her mother was right—because she was, and Marian would never have agreed to that chaste marriage otherwise—she blew errant strands of hair off her face. Then she returned to sorting through the junk that had accumulated in the topmost cellar for years. Thus far, she'd come across seven pairs of torn trousers that weren't even hers and she had no idea why she had them; a book of suggestive caricatures, which she knew to be from Isabela; a book of forbidden lore, also courtesy of Isabela; a framed painting of King Cailan done on velvet, which, who would—why? But she did know who to give it to, at least. Malcolm would laugh, and then give it to his brother, the current King of Ferelden, and that would be an excellent story.
Then there was the polished marble Andraste figurine. Maybe Cullen would want it, because she didn't dare offer it to Sebastian. He could get ideas, and the mere thought of those ideas disturbed her.
"Is that yours?" Leandra asked from halfway down the stairs.
Marian hefted the statue. "No, certainly not."
Leandra's eyes narrowed. "Sebastian's?"
Oh, so her mother had come up with the same idea as Marian. Wonderful. "No!" She frowned. "At least, I don't think so. If it was, I don't think it would be down here." Her frown grew deeper. "I hope it wouldn't be down here." She directed her frown at her mother. "You made me think that on purpose! What kind of noblewoman are you?"
"One who raised a daughter such as you."
"Well, who am I to argue with that?" Marian tossed the Andraste statue back into the bin where she'd found it.
"Is that a statue of Andraste?" she heard Sebastian ask from the top of the stairs.
"We thought it was yours," Leandra said to him.
"Throwing a statue of Our Lady of Sorrows into a wooden crate may be blasphemy. I should take possession of it."
Marian glared at them both.
"Or," Sebastian said when he took in Marian's look, "perhaps we should offer it to Her Grace, when we go to our appointment with her."
Then Marian became incredibly conscious of the fact that she was covered in dust and sweat from lugging crates around, and they did have an audience with the Grand Cleric scheduled for today, before noon. It was likely nearing noon, and was why Sebastian was here, not just to conveniently show up as Marian committed blasphemy. Not that it wasn't something that had happened before, because it was, and Marian may have taken to making a game out of it. "Is that soon?" she asked.
"Half an hour from now, yes. I'm sure Her Grace wouldn't mind your appearance. She has an appreciation for hard work."
"Sebastian, dear, you need not encourage her," said Leandra. "She encourages herself quite enough."
"I really don't like it when you two team up." Marian went to put her hands on her hips, but the next thing she'd already grabbed from the crate made it awkward. Both Sebastian and her mother's expressions showed more than a little horror as they peered at her hand, and she chanced a look at it.
Tattered smalls. Fantastic. She dropped them like they were on fire. And on fire sounded like a good state for them to be in, especially the ashes part afterward, and so she rendered the smalls to ashes.
Leandra sighed.
"Father would have approved," Marian said as she started up the steps.
"And sometimes you're more like him than I had ever wished."
"Mother, you say the nicest things!" Marian had not only shared magic with her father, but they'd had the same sense of humor, and both of them had loved to get reactions out of Leandra with it.
Leandra sighed again, and then turned her attention to Sebastian. "What sort of appointment have you with the Grand Cleric? I hope you aren't trying to convince her to leave Kirkwall, as well."
"Kirkwall is dangerous," Sebastian said, with a hint of scolding behind his lovely Starkhaven accent. Well, Marian believed it a lovely accent, and for more than one reason. Her mother, however, was immune to its charm in all ways. Yet, Sebastian always tried. "It would be for the best if both you and Her Grace left the city until the danger has passed."
"And just how will we know when the danger has passed? Last I heard, neither of you could properly describe what sort of danger we're all in."
Sebastian shot a pleading look over Leandra's shoulder toward Marian as they stepped into the room where they stored the barrels of ale and other foodstuffs. Mostly ale from Ferelden, courtesy of their brother-in-law, the Teyrn of Highever, because he was one of the best people Marian had ever met. While it might be the ale talking, others who weren't so enamored by the ale said the same.
She wondered if they could somehow ship some of the ale with their other belongings. No. All the ale. She considered ditching some of their belongings if it meant they could take all the ale.
Sebastian cleared his throat, nudging Marian out of her dream about ale.
"Danger, Mother," Marian said. "Can't you feel it?"
"Perhaps some, but that's always present in Kirkwall." She touched both of them on the shoulder. "Darlings, I know you have my best interest at heart, but for as long as I lived in Ferelden, I am a Kirkwaller. I will not leave my home, not again. I'll visit you, of course, especially when you have grandchildren for me, but Kirkwall will be my home for the rest of my days."
"That's what I'm afraid of," Marian muttered.
They had even less luck with the Grand Cleric, who had also become shockingly immune to Sebastian's best efforts, which involved a great deal of charm. Marian suspected her mother to be involved, somehow.
"Just as I have a duty, Sebastian, so do you," Elthina said as they walked along the gallery on the second floor of the cathedral. "I belong here, with the people whom I promised to guide. Your place is at your Marian's side as the two of you restore Starkhaven to what it once was. Your work in guiding your people is there, as mine is here."
"Your Grace, I—"
Elthina placed a gentle hand on his forearm, quieting him immediately. "Sebastian. Please, do as an old woman requests. Let go of your campaign to see me to Val Royeaux. Then leave Kirkwall to shepherd your city, and write to me often."
"But there's a danger you do not realize—"
Elthina raised an eyebrow. "You speak of the apostate healer sowing sedition? He is no danger to me. He and I have spoken, at length. He was here, praying with me, when I received the news about the deaths at the White Spire. Andraste and the Maker will protect me, just as they will protect him."
Marian grumbled internally about the Grand Cleric having spoken with Anders more recently than she or any of their friends had. They hadn't seen him in ages, and they all missed their friend. But he'd gotten obsessive over finding a way to get Líadan and her children out of the Gallows quicker than the Wardens could once they finally got here. If they got here. If they didn't, Marian knew she might be left with no choice but a full frontal assault. Anders had already been heading in that direction before he'd made himself scarce. After dragging him out of a back alley for the third time and taking him back to her room at the Hanged Man because she didn't want to deal with Darktown, Isabela had even privately expressed concern to Marian. For Maker's sake, even Fenris had expressed actual worry over Anders' well-being, and for once it hadn't been worry about Justice taking over. It had been actual concern about Anders as a person.
Which, somehow, was somewhat alarming to Marian, but Anders' continued absence was far more worrisome. She resolved to take the rest of the day to hunt him down. The worry over him really was becoming too much to set aside any longer. She hoped it was just Anders going underground like he'd done before, when working on his manifesto. He tended to get so absorbed by the project that he forgot everything else, sometimes even his patients. She hoped this would be the case again, and not something worse, like Vengeance finally having taken over when none of them had been looking. But Elthina had said she'd spoken with him recently, and since she hadn't mentioned that he sounded incoherent or that he'd threatened her, he likely wasn't Vengeance. Probably just Anders becoming obsessed with saving a friend, but Marian still had to confirm it.
"Heed my wishes, Sebastian," said Elthina. "The Maker watches over us all." Then she inclined her head at the two of them before bustling back toward where the Chantry offices were located.
Sebastian sighed and headed for the front of the cathedral, Marian following. As they walked through the doorway to Hightown, she shivered.
"What was that?" asked Sebastian.
"I just… I got that feeling, like someone scattered my ashes." And she hated that feeling. She'd gotten it before her father had taken ill and that hadn't turned out well at all.
"The Maker will see us through this," he said, with the conviction of his that refused to waver.
Marian took some comfort in Sebastian's unwavering faith, but it didn't feel like enough, not for her.
She left him at the estate to do his own packing and headed for the Hanged Man to round up Isabela. If she could pry Varric from the table where he held a near constant audience, she'd drag him along to Darktown, too. Maybe she'd pick up Merrill from the Alienage.
Isabela, she found easily. Varric was somewhere, but the somewhere wasn't the Hanged Man and Corff only shrugged when they asked him. In the Alienage, no one answered Merrill's door, which meant Merrill wasn't home, because she always answered her door even though they'd all repeatedly cautioned her not to. While they knew Merrill could more than take care of herself when it came to threats, they were no longer sure about the templars. They'd become incredibly zealous over the past weeks, enough that Marian got antsier than usual, even though she'd never used magic in the city, only her blade.
In Darktown, the lantern over the door of Anders' clinic was dark, which meant they probably wouldn't be seeing him.
Since when did the Grand Cleric get to see Anders more than she did? Or more than Isabela did? Marian kicked a rock into the shadows near a caved-in section of the wall near the door to the passageway to the Amell estate. It made her feel a little better, but not much, and so she turned to Isabela. "Do you think he and the Grand Cleric are besties, now?"
"Let me think about that." Isabela touched her index finger to her lips and hummed before she said, "No, not really. No. He barely gets along with Sebastian, and the Grand Cleric is an entire level above Andraste-crotch's devotion."
"He doesn't like it when you call him that."
"Then tell him to stop wearing that ridiculous belt buckle. And then when he does stop wearing it, he can give it to me. I've got plans for it."
Marian quirked an eyebrow. "Plans?"
"I'm not going to tell you, because then you'd want to keep the buckle for yourself. Got you thinking though, didn't I?"
"You did." She glared at the dim lantern again before returning to Isabela. "I found a polished marble statue of Andraste in my cellar. You wouldn't happen to have anything to do with that, would you?"
"That's where it went! I'd gotten it for—" She stopped again, to Marian's disappointment. Isabela tended to have remarkably creative ideas that led to equally remarkable results. "Things. Things I'm not going to tell you, because you'll keep the statue, too. Oh! Tell you what. If you can get that buckle for me, I'll let you have the statue."
"And your plans for it?"
"No reason for you to keep the statue if I don't tell you, is there?"
"None at all." Marian sighed and leaned her back against the clinic's stout wooden door. "I think our only option to find him at this point is to arrange for some people down here to keep a lookout for him. And if they sodding see him, and come get me, and I manage to talk to him as a result, I'll pay said lookout a whole lot of gold, besides what I'll pay in the first place."
"I believe you'll have some takers. We should get to the asking."
Marian glanced over at her, and she caught the last hint of worry in Isabela's eyes before it fled. Isabela didn't do talking about feelings when they related to any sort of attachment, even though refusing to talk about them didn't make them go away. They all had their different ways of coping, so Marian didn't call attention to Isabela's moment of weakness.
It did, however, add to Marian's concern. While Isabela did worry, she rarely, if ever, allowed said worry to be noticed by anyone else.
"Any news on plans for getting Princess and the kids out of the Gallows?" Isabela asked when she noticed Marian's attention on her. "He might be looking for one still, instead of waiting for the wrath of the Wardens and Ferelden to arrive in the harbor. Personally, I can't wait for that show." Her lascivious smile masked the last few remnants of concern in her eyes. "Especially if both Alistair and Malcolm storm the proverbial castle. You'll have to gird your loins if they do. Theirins in the midst of a righteous rage will send your nethers atingle. Mine are just thinking about it."
"I don't think I needed to know that."
Isabela pursed her lips. "I'm merely doing a public service, giving you warning beforehand. It would be scandalous to see the almost Princess of Starkhaven attacking either of them out of lust. It's my sort of scandal, but those boys would blush adorably and their partners might be furious. Well, Líadan, she might not be. She's flexible."
"I'm not sure I want to think about why or how you know that."
She hummed again, this time with a grin tugging at her lips. "I wonder if she's flexible in other ways, if you know what I mean."
No, Marian refused to think about it, so rolled her eyes and started for the rest of Darktown. "Let's go find people to find Anders."
They ended up canvassing the area together, running into the same sorts of people they'd encountered in Darktown for years, including a sad group of Fereldan refugees who just never made it out of the sewers after escaping the Blight. Marian gathered her new network of observers as best she could to make sure they made some sort of rotation, because she really did need to see Anders. Possibly to throttle him, but she left that detail out of her conversations with her lookouts. Yet, none of them had seen Anders for some time, and the glimpses they might have caught of him meant a lit lantern during strange hours, and not actually seeing him in person.
The day left her exhausted, tired of trying to convince people to save themselves—if she could even find them in the first place—when they apparently had no desire to do so. Maybe they all had death wishes? She didn't know. What she did know was that she was going to go to bed, sleep until she woke up in the morning, then roll over and steal the covers and sleep some more and not do anything all day. Maker help her, if she didn't take a break, she would tie them all up and drag them away for their own good and sort out the hurt feelings later. It would be worth it, because they would be alive, and the fact that she believed that to be the right thing to do, even a little, indicated that she needed to step away, lest she actually go through with it, and then have to endure lecturing from Sebastian.
Then again, it was always such fun to subvert her husband's lectures on things like ethics and morality and doing the right thing and… maybe it was just the thing she needed. Not the lecture, but the subversion. He'd get so worked up and yes. Then she could take a proper break.
The problem was that her friends never seemed to want her to do that.
In the blue hour before dawn, Bodahn woke her up with a rap on her door.
"Mistress?" he said once Marian mumbled out some sort of reply. "There's someone here to see you."
She groaned into her pillow, then lifted her head a little to assure her voice was clear. "Tell them to go away and come back tomorrow. If it's Carver, he can come in. I haven't argued with him for weeks and that just seems wrong."
And Sebastian, of course, slept on, because he wouldn't wake unless she shook him or someone rang a Chantry bell in their house. She had absolutely no intention of ever bringing a Chantry bell into her home. Ever.
"I'm afraid it's not your brother. It's Mistress Merrill," said Bodahn.
Marian groaned again. Merrill wouldn't go away. She'd just be pitiful and wait, and the guilt from the idea alone propelled Marian out of bed. Sebastian had the gall to not even stir in his sleep. The guilt that'd driven her from bed didn't stop her from grumbling as she went down the stairs and into the large front room, where Merrill waited by the fireplace.
Her hands were wringing. That was never a good sign.
"Hawke, I need your help," Merrill said before Marian could even ask.
Also a bad sign.
"I thought you finished the eluvian?" Marian asked. That was usually the reason why Merrill needed help, but the others had helped her finish it while she and Sebastian had been in Starkhaven. Anders, she'd been told, had strangely enough been one of Merrill's biggest helps.
"I did," said Merrill. "I did and…"
"And what?"
"Someone's come through. Three someones."
"Don't tell me they're waiting on my doorstep."
"In your entryway, actually. It's raining. I didn't want them to catch cold."
Well, now her curiosity was piqued. Sod it. She could practically hear Sebastian teasing her about it, with her need to find or do things simply because they were there and she wanted to solve the mystery.
Sod him. She wanted the answer to the mystery, and so she followed Merrill to the entryway.
Then she stopped as she turned the corner into the room. Marian stared at her visitors for a long moment before turning right back around. "No," she said to Merrill. "No, I can't deal with this. It's too early." She knew who those people were. One of them, anyway, because everyone from Ferelden knew about the Witch of the Wilds and her daughter. And everyone especially knew if they'd lived in Lothering for longer than a week. So Marian had recognized Morrigan on sight, and the little boy who stood next to her was clearly her son, and while she had no idea who the man in Warden armor was standing behind them, the presence of all three of them was something she very much did not want to deal with. It complicated things that were already frustratingly complicated and no.
"Hawke, you didn't even say hello!"
"Someone else can." Sebastian, maybe. Or her mother. Leandra was still on about grandchildren, and still enjoyed spending time with children when she could. The last time Malcolm and Líadan had visited and brought their two along—thankfully not for their last visit, and the Gallows situation didn't count—Leandra had co-opted them for a shockingly great deal of time. Yes. That sealed it. She'd get Bodahn to wake her mother, and then send her mabari in for good measure, and she could put off dealing with this until the sun rose.
Then both her mother and Sebastian were walking down the stairs, Bodahn behind them because he'd woken them—Leandra was technically the lady of the house—because it was clear their new visitors were of the special sort. And if they'd come through the eluvian like Merrill had said, which was likely true because Merrill tended not to lie, the trio would end up their guests for Maker knew how long.
Introductions were barely over before Leandra had offered them rooms. Given their unplanned trip and subsequent lack of resources, they accepted the offer. All was well when Bodahn led them first to a room for Cianán, but when he brought Morrigan and Nathaniel to a single room meant for the both of them, Morrigan snapped at him.
Marian wasn't on any part of the receiving end of it, and even she felt a little tender on hearing it. Poor Bodahn hadn't been given the luxury of hiding his assumption on the nature of Morrigan and Nathaniel's relationship—which, apparently, was emphatically nothing at all—while Marian had.
Bodahn quickly led Nathaniel to a room of his own. It was for the best.
With their guests now out of earshot, Marian spun to face Merrill. "Merrill. How?"
Merrill blinked one of her owlish blinks. "I told you. They came through the eluvian."
"Yes, but I didn't think…" She hadn't thought at all, really, aside from getting Merrill out of her house quickly enough that she could return to bed and fall back asleep. That plan was now totally out the window, and she was left pacing in her front room, ignoring the pops from the fire taking the chill off the early morning air. Then she turned to Merrill again. "Is it still open?"
"It is, but the other side has several guards waiting if anyone tries to go over there. So, you shouldn't try to."
"And where is 'there,' exactly?"
"Arlathan."
Sebastian broke off from his puzzled gaze down the corridor. "What was that?"
"Arlathan," Merrill said, quite clearly.
Marian stared at her, but her mind refused to accept Merrill's statement as reality. "I need breakfast," she finally said. "Maybe that will help."
It did, but not much. Especially once their guests joined them. The boy was perfectly pleasant. His looks could be a little unnerving at times, but he seemed no different than any other small child. He and Jago had already played together, and having to separate them so Cianán would eat breakfast drew protests from each of them. Marian had witnessed such a scene before, like the last time Malcolm and Líadan had brought their children here with them. Then it had been two mabari and two children and the adults had chucked them out into the garden with all the noise. It was a happy kind of noise, though. Just happier if it was somewhat muffled by a solid wall.
Morrigan seemed to be pretty much exactly as Marian and her family had heard through rumors and cautionary tales about Witches of the Wilds told in Lothering. The cool gaze she pinned on everyone from her perch above them all—the woman was far more a hawk than Marian was, herself—marked exactly how dangerous she was.
Very, in Marian's opinion. Very. And Father had warned her several times not to seek out any of the Witches of the Wilds. He had also counseled her that, should the witches find her, not to cross them. And now she saw for herself that her father had been right, and wondered why Morrigan was here.
Then again, Merrill's experimentations with things arcane tended to yield strange, fantastical results like this one, so maybe not so much wondering.
As the meal progressed, Morrigan's gaze turned from cool and detached to merely haughty, which Marian assumed to be warm for Morrigan, when it came to strangers. Her look on her son sat on the opposite side of the scale. She clearly loved him. The rest of them, it seemed, could go hang, but Morrigan wouldn't be doing the hanging, so it was progress.
Nathaniel, the man wearing the Grey Warden tabard, didn't seem to know how to talk, not really. When he did, it was a raspy voice that possibly sent shivers down Marian's back. Or did, judging by the displeased look Sebastian sent in her direction, which she ignored.
She delicately cleared her throat, instead. Then she asked Nathaniel, just as delicately, "So, you're a Grey Warden?"
"Yes."
He was one of those types; she could already tell, and it would be a pain in the ass to get information from him. But she'd been Fenris' friend for sodding years and had gotten pertinent information out of him—it might have taken more time than she was readily willing to admit, so she was going to overlook that detail for now—so she could drag it from this Nathaniel. "And are Grey Wardens normally assigned to posts in places considered to be a myth?"
Merrill started to object. "It's not a—"
Marian waved her off. "Not my point."
"Not that I am aware," Nathaniel said.
"He was uninvited," Morrigan said straight after.
That was a shock, given that Nathaniel was still alive despite clearly having crossed a Witch of the Wilds. "Then I'm surprised he's not, you know, dead." From the stories Marian had been told, Nathaniel should've long ago been cut up into pieces and various parts of him left dangling in tree branches.
"His presence was tolerable. As long as it remained so, he remained alive."
Nathaniel laughed under his breath, earning a frosty glare from Morrigan.
"Are you planning on returning to Arlathan?" asked Sebastian.
Morrigan turned her cold gaze onto him, for Sebastian had not been excused of suspicion like everyone else. Probably because Chantry still clung to him, as incense did after a service, and Morrigan seemed the type to be able to sense that.
It was a highly necessary skill for an apostate to have.
"As of yet, I do not know," Morrigan said slowly, as if testing each word before she said it. "When I do, I may tell you."
Morrigan was turning out to be surprisingly fun.
Within not even two days, Marian changed her mind. In those two days, Morrigan had revealed that she held respect for Merrill for her power and her ability to repair the eluvian from one simple shard, while she did not approve of Merrill's bumbling way of speech, and told her so, quite often. Fenris, well. They didn't get along, and they were like hissing cats when they were both in the same room, so Marian kept them separated. The rest, as she did Nathaniel, Morrigan seemed to tolerate, or suffer, their presence, with one exception—Isabela and Morrigan seemed to have fashioned some sort of friendship.
Marian had no idea what to make of that.
Which meant she didn't, and she hardly thought about it at all once she received a summons from Knight-Commander Meredith to come see her in the Gallows as soon as possible. The meeting could be for several things. One such thing was a trap. Marian would waltz into the Gallows, and then never leave. Or something had happened to Carver, but she suspected the message would've been worded differently, and a templar or lay Chantry brother or sister would have delivered news like that. But she doubted it was either of things, because she was entirely convinced it was about Morrigan. While Morrigan hadn't gone out much, she'd gone out a few times, and each time had refused to leave her stave behind. While Marian understood, it still just begged for a confrontation.
She narrowed her eyes. Morrigan seemed just the type to ask for such a thing when she wanted a fight. Then Marian sighed, folded the note back up, and tossed it onto her desk.
Bodahn waited by the door. "Will you be needing me to send a message back?"
She sighed again. She didn't really want to go to the Gallows. No one did. No one sane, anyway. But this would be a chance to gather some sort of intelligence about what was going on inside, maybe find some tiny detail that would give them a way to get Líadan and the children out. She had to go, but she didn't have to like it. "Yes. Tell her I'll see her after the midday meal."
He gave her a short bow and bustled off.
Maybe she'd get to see Cullen. She did sort of miss him. They'd kept in touch after his help with Anders, Feynriel, and Líadan's trip to the Fade, and they'd even worked a few missions together. He was great fun to tease, like a brother who wasn't a git like Carver.
With a great deal of trepidation, Marian went to tell her mother where she'd be going. She found her in the library, where she usually was this time of day, but she wasn't alone. Morrigan and Cianán sat at the small table in the corner, apparently going over lessons in magic. It reminded Marian of her father doing the same with her and Bethany, and Leandra must have held the same memory, because her quick glances at them were warm and wistful.
Morrigan pretended not to notice Leandra or Marian, but when Sebastian entered the library, Morrigan shot him a baleful look before returning to her son's lessons. Sebastian only sighed as he came to stand near Marian.
"Mother," Marian said softly, and then waited for Leandra to look at her before she resumed, "I'm going up to the Gallows to see Knight-Commander Meredith today. She asked for me to see her."
"You should go. Maker knows no one's been inside for weeks."
Marian nodded, but before she could explain to her mother why, exactly, she was going, Morrigan was up and bristling at them. "Why would you go see her? Is it simply because she commands?"
"I need to look around," said Marian, who realized that Morrigan didn't know who was in the Gallows, because none of them possessed the courage to tell her. Why was she always the one to have to do these things? Fighting the Arishok again would probably be easier. At least then she'd had sturdy things to hide behind. "There are people you know in there. A friend of yours and her children. We haven't been able to free them because they're held too securely. I have a chance to find a crack in that security if I go."
"We need to save them," Cianán said from where he sat.
Morrigan's brow furrowed as she looked at her son. "Who?"
"My brother and his sister and their mother."
Spots of color appeared on Morrigan's cheeks, livid against her pale skin. Cianán's observation—how had he even known?—led to another sort of conversation that involved angry witches calling for a certain Knight-Commander's head. Marian realized that she did not like to be around angry witches. She made too convenient of a target. Anyone made too convenient a target, and Marian had only just remembered who Cáel's natural mother was. She'd known for a long time that Líadan hadn't given birth to Cáel but, in all other respects, she was the boy's mother, and he regarded her as such. It was something Marian had taken for granted and hadn't given it a second thought, even though she'd spent two far too interesting days in the company of the woman who had given birth to him. She supposed she could see some of Morrigan in his personality, but Líadan and Morrigan were similar in a lot of those same ways, so Marian wasn't sure. What she was sure of was that Cáel looked absolutely nothing like Morrigan, while Cianán looked everything like Morrigan, and she struggled to remember who was Cianán's father. It wasn't Malcolm, she recalled that much, but the answer escaped her.
Leandra recognized the look of her daughter trying to recall elusive information. "His father was Warden who killed the Archdemon," she whispered to Marian as Morrigan informed Sebastian that he had to get them out—she'd discovered yesterday that Sebastian had once been a Chantry brother and now flung that knowledge right at him. "Zevran, I believe it was," Leandra finished.
Morrigan threw a final glare at Sebastian before returning to Marian. "Tell me exactly who is the Gallows."
Though it was her first impulse, Marian did not ask if Morrigan meant every single resident, because Morrigan would most likely kill her and then proceed to interrogate Sebastian. "Like I said, one of the people you traveled with during the Blight, Líadan. Meredith somehow captured them—I have no idea how, not at all, and Varric is only now managing to pry information from people on the giant fight that apparently occurred and, let me tell you, a lot of templars died in the capture—and now Meredith's holding them for some unknown and probably insane reason."
"Your Circle is not allowed to hold Grey Wardens prisoner."
"First, it's not 'my Circle.' I've been an apostate my entire life." The sudden, slight nod of respect from Morrigan made Marian pause. Then she recovered, realizing that she'd probably manage to lose that respect before the day was out. Morrigan's standards were incredibly hard to meet, much less maintain. "Second, didn't I mention the 'insane' part about Meredith? Because she is. Nothing she does makes sense anymore, not that it made much sense before, but you could see it if you squinted. Not so any longer."
"And you have left them there?"
The threat was so heavily implied that Morrigan might as well have outright stated it.
"Not on purpose! All the usual avenues of escape have been cut off, and not a single templar who has a lick of compassion or the ability to see reason has been allowed out of the Gallows. At least, that last part is what we're assuming, because we haven't seen them. We really are trying to plan some sort of rescue, but the only viable plan we got so far is waiting for the Wardens to show up and force Meredith to give them up, or for Ferelden's army to do the same. Or both. Either way, going to hear what Meredith has to say will give me a chance to see the inside of the Gallows. Maybe I can find someone I know. I don't know. It's something. But we do know that running in there with some sort of frontal assault would just get people killed."
"Indeed." Morrigan nodded, clearly not unfamiliar with tactics, which wasn't a surprise, considering her involvement with battling the Blight. "I would help you plan, if you would have me."
"So you do have a friend in there."
Morrigan lifted her chin slightly. "And I will see her freed."
Marian had no problem believing that. She left Morrigan's statement without a response, and instead gained the attention of the silent Nathaniel. "What about you? You're a Warden. You could go get her." Then she shook her head before he could answer. "No. Even if you managed to convince Meredith to release Líadan, I bet she wouldn't let the children go, since they aren't technically Wardens. And since it's just you, you can't exactly force her hand with… force. You know what I mean."
Nathaniel nodded, and that was all she got from him.
"Do not waste your time while you are there," said Morrigan. "Gather intelligence. Squandered time gives us nothing with which to render aid."
Definitely a warning, and Marian had every intention of heeding it. She just had to hope that Morrigan wouldn't attempt to exact revenge on Meredith by killing her before she had a chance to meet with her. Appearance of coolness aside, angry witches seemed the type to do something like that.
The Gallows had changed, Marian discovered. Different templars with different faces and different outlooks stood at the same posts the Gallows had always maintained in their yard and on their little island in the harbor. None of them spoke to her as she walked through the gates, not that she recognized any of them. None of Carver's friends seemed to be there, not that she could see, and of course Carver wasn't there, either. It all served to make the Gallows more unsettling than usual, which she hadn't thought possible since it was so creepy before.
Her meeting with Meredith really didn't help to make her feel better about everything. In fact, Meredith seemed overly eager to speak with her, meaning Meredith barely waited for Marian to be seated before she voiced her request.
A request that left Marian staring at Meredith, not believing what she'd heard. "You want me to do what?"
A tiny look of irritation crossed Meredith's face, and then it faded. "There is an apostate in Kirkwall who has thus far evaded or killed my templars. Since you have aided the templars before in the apprehension of blood mages, I had thought you might suit this task better than any of the templars I have left."
And Marian was right where she hadn't wanted to be: Meredith was after Morrigan. Also, Meredith either knew nothing of Morrigan's abilities, or she didn't believe anything she'd heard about them. But just in case Marian assumed wrong—she'd done it before with embarrassing results and Seamus Dumar hadn't spoken to her for weeks afterward and then he'd gone and died—she asked, "Have you a description of this unusually powerful apostate?"
"Of course. Better yet, I have a sketch of her likeness." Meredith's smile was tiny and grim as she withdrew a piece of paper from a small stack and tossed it toward Marian's side of the desk. "One of the templars who survived an encounter drew this, with the aid of others who lived to witness the apostate. She must be brought to the Gallows. She is a danger to us all."
Part of Marian recognized that Morrigan really was a danger, but she wasn't a danger to all of them. She was only a danger to stupid templars who threatened her or one of the very few whom she named friend. Meredith currently fit the description for those whom Morrigan considered an enemy. She and her Gallows and the templars she commanded stood between Morrigan and the woman Morrigan considered a sister. Meredith and her ilk stood between her and the child she had birthed and given to hear near-sister to raise.
The only reason Morrigan hadn't yet killed Meredith, Marian realized, or any others in her way, was because Morrigan planned ahead. She did not dive in headfirst.
Still, she could stand to be a little more discreet until they had some sort of workable plan.
"I'll see what I can do," Marian said out loud.
"Good. Keep me posted of any new developments," said Meredith, and then dismissed her.
On her way out, Marian saw nothing different from what she'd seen on the way in. Some intelligence gathering trip she'd made.
When she arrived at the Hanged Man, Morrigan ever-so-kindly let her know she'd done a terrible job, and Marian had absolutely no reply at first because Morrigan was at the Hanged Man. Not only at the Hanged Man, but as Sebastian quietly informed her, had trusted Leandra enough to leave Cianán in her care in order to go to the Hanged Man.
Not only had those two things occurred, but Morrigan now sat across from Isabela at the end of Varric's table, sharing a bottle of wine, and talking. More chatting, if Marian were to pick a term, while Varric sat in his customary place, not engaged in the conversation and pretending not to listen when he most definitely was. Marian didn't think Varric was capable of not listening, even if he didn't intend on passing along whatever gossip he gained. Nathaniel sat at the other end of the table, eyes drifting over the crowd of regulars. Merrill sat in the middle, openly and eagerly listening to Isabela and Morrigan.
Isabela lounged in her chair, goblet in hand. "So," she was saying to Morrigan as Marian and Sebastian approached, "I've heard you've got mother issues."
"Indeed. My mother seeks to take my body as her own."
Isabela nodded and saluted Morrigan with her glass before taking a deep draft. "Mine sold me to the highest bidder."
"Have you sought revenge?"
"My mother was never worth my time for revenge, not when she belonged to the Qun. But, I did hire an assassin to kill my husband. Then I slept with the assassin before I stole my dead husband's ship and made myself Queen of the Eastern Seas. You?"
"I performed a ritual that allowed me to bear a child with the soul of an Old God. He will be more powerful than her, and her threat to me will end, once and for all."
"Ooh, that's a good one." Isabela held up the open bottle of wine from the table. "More wine?"
"Please."
They were bonding. Maker help them all.
Well, Marian could certainly do Thedas a service and break this kind of thing right up. "Morrigan," she said as she slipped into the free chair next to Isabela, "you've been here all of two days. No! Not even two days, and Meredith is after your head."
"Be grateful for that much," said Nathaniel.
Marian decided that Nathaniel had a death wish, and Morrigan would gleefully grant it to him sooner or later if he kept goading her like he did.
Isabela offered her a glass of wine, and Marian eagerly accepted it before returning to her pretend interrogation of Morrigan. "Have you refrained from being so conspicuous?" It was worth a shot. Not that it was likely Morrigan's clothes that drew templars to Morrigan, no. But maybe a little, after the whole killing templars thing.
Morrigan delicately set her wineglass on the table before she crossed her arms. "I'll not change to suit this Knight-Commander's whim. Neither should you."
"I honestly fear the moment when you meet Meredith."
"I think we should sell tickets," said Varric. "We could make a fortune."
He was probably right, but Marian couldn't take the opportunity for levity that Varric had extended. Marian had to take the most direct route to confirming that it was Morrigan whom Meredith was looking for. "Morrigan, have you, by any chance, been killing templars while you're out and about?"
Her brow quirked slightly, informing Marian what a silly question she had asked. "Only those who get in my way."
"And, by chance, does that happen to be all of them?"
"'Tis not my fault if they insist upon interfering."
"And how do they do this?"
"Existing," said Nathaniel. "Anders had the same problem, but with a lot less of the killing and a lot more of the evading."
Marian sighed. "Yes, well, his problem got bigger. And more deadly."
"I would like to speak with him."
She would love for him to, but doubted it could be done. "If you can even find him. We haven't seen him for weeks, and the last time any of us saw him, he didn't look well."
"He's lost," said Merrill. "I'm not sure if he could even find himself."
Not one of the others disagreed.
"I can find him," said Nathaniel. Then he walked out of the Hanged Man, into the Lowtown night, leaving a bewildered silence behind.
Marian hoped that he could. Someone had to find him, and it certainly wasn't going to be Anders.