Chapter 36

"All things in this world are finite.

What one man gains, another has lost.

Those who steal from their brothers and sisters

Do harm to their livelihood and to their peace of mind.

Our Maker sees this with a heavy heart."

—Chant of Light, Transfigurations 1:1-5

Malcolm

Malcolm hugged the first Dalish hunter he saw. Luckily for him, it was someone he knew, and not someone who would've immediately killed him for the transgression. In his defense, it was someone he'd really not expected to see, so much so that seeing him was astonishing, which resulted in the great big bear hug.

"It's good to see you too, lethallin," Cammen managed to say, "but you're crushing me."

He let him go and then what Cammen had said caught up to him. "You've never called me that before."

"Well…" Cammen shrugged. "You're the bondmate of one of my birth clan's last living clanmates, so I decided it fit, even if you'll never be Dalish since you're, you know, human."

"Cammen, even if I was an elf, I could never be Dalish. There's no way I could ever sit silently through getting those tattoos you get. Nope."

"I am glad to see the insipid prince recognizes its faults," said Shale.

"Nor would you be able to sit still for that long," said another hunter as she emerged from the trees.

Malcolm grinned and held his arms open as he started toward her. "Ariane!"

She held up one hand to ward him off as the other went to the hilt of her sword. "Oh, no, you stay away from me. Since when do you give out hugs?"

He glanced eastward, toward Kirkwall. "I'm just out of sorts. And I think I'm happy to see more people that Líadan considers family." He shook himself. "I'm surprised you aren't already in the city, actually."

Ariane traded a look with Cammen before saying, "Keeper Lanaya has told us to wait."

Malcolm frowned. "Why?"

"You and I both know, as she does, that one Dalish clan won't be able to free her, not from a stronghold like the Gallows. We'd need far more than a single clan."

"Fair point." He ran his fingers over the hilt of his sword for a moment. "I was thinking, if Keeper Emrys got here early, we could toss him in there. Launch him over the Gallows walls with a trebuchet. I think he could take them all, considering his feelings on the matter. And the fact that he's as old as Thedas, and probably nearly as powerful as Flemeth."

"There are some who say he is," said Cammen. "Usually his enemies."

"I've never been able to decide if I'm an enemy of his or not."

"Are you dead?" asked Ariane.

"I don't seem to be."

"Then you aren't his enemy."

Right, he'd walked straight into that one. How could he have been so happy to see these people? Needing to deflect further cutting comments of Ariane's away from him, he decided introductions were in order. He motioned toward Wynne. "Ariane, I'm sure you remember Wynne, but I don't think Cammen has met her. Cammen, this is Senior Enchanter Wynne. Wynne, this is Cammen. He's originally from the Mahariel clan."

Wynne gave the young man a warm and welcoming smile. "Líadan's clan?" she asked. "That's wonderful. When we'd heard the news of their fate, we had assumed that Líadan and Merrill were all who were left."

Cammen returned her smile, though his was shadowed by grief. "They are not so alone as they must think."

"And," Malcolm said as he gestured to Shale to cover the awkward quiet that followed, "this is Shale. She's a golem."

"Really? I never would have guessed," said Ariane.

He couldn't believe he'd been excited to see her. How had he forgotten how easily he fell into the traps of her remarks?

"I have decided that I like the feisty elf," said Shale.

Malcolm sighed. "Of course you would."

Ariane's hands found her hips. "And just what do you mean by that?"

Malcolm wondered how long it would take to get back to the Deep Roads. Maybe he could catch up to the Legion. Or maybe he could just take off for Kirkwall, right now, just to escape. Except he needed to see the others, maybe have a long talk with Lanaya because she had that ability to calm anyone and make them feel better, and he knew that, like Ariane, other hunters would want to lend their aid in getting Líadan free of the Gallows. Not just Líadan, but the children, as well. Especially Panowen, who'd been Cáel's nurse before Nuala had taken over.

Maker. If Nuala found out, she'd be on the next ship to Kirkwall. Not that he wouldn't mind the help. Nurse or not, she could more than acquit herself in a fight.

He returned his attention to Ariane before anyone realized it had wandered. "I meant that being here and seeing all of you makes me feel like I'm closer to Líadan. Closer than I was, anyway."

"Oh, that was well done," said Shale. "I see why it has survived for this long."

It wasn't like he hadn't been telling the truth. Seeing Líadan's clanmate, seeing one of Líadan's close friends, being surrounded by the forest, even lightly covered in snow as it was, brought him closer to her. These were the things she was familiar with. These were the things that, outside of himself and their children, were her home.

Soon after they entered the camp, Cammen left them, needing to get back to finish up his patrol. Ariane followed after pointing them in the direction of the Keeper's aravel.

"She's expecting you," Ariane said before she trotted off.

"I don't see why she wouldn't be," said Malcolm. "If she wasn't so pleasant and nice, she'd be creepy with how she knows all these things when she shouldn't."

Ariane had no reply since she'd already gone after Cammen, but Wynne managed a frown at him.

He shrugged. "What? You know I'm right."

Wynne sniffed, yet offered no further argument, and they continued on their way.

As their small group strode into the Ra'asiel encampment, that feeling of familiarity grew stronger. It made him miss Líadan more keenly, and yet it brought him a small comfort in experiencing something that was an intrinsic part of who she was. As they moved through the camp, he took solace in that.

Children who weren't underfoot sat before a hahren, listening to a lesson, a tale, or both. Various fires smoldered in the fire pits outside the many aravels, and their doors rattled open and slammed shut at various intervals. The earthy, horse-like smell of halla drifted through the air, mixed with the smoke from the fires, and Dalish elves held scattered conversations in their own language, pausing as the newcomers walked by.

Malcolm found himself expecting to see Líadan emerge from an aravel or trot over from the nearby meadow, where he could apprentice hunters practiced under the expert eyes of the clan's proven hunters. When moments and steps passed and she didn't appear, he couldn't help his disappointment, even though he knew perfectly well that she really wouldn't be here.

Keeper Lanaya—who, unlike Ariane, was totally fine with a hug—was yet another reminder. After all, Lanaya had been the Keeper who'd agreed to and performed their bonding ceremony. She'd been there since the beginning. Malcolm reminded himself that she wasn't here to see it end, because she had to be here to see it continue.

"No Emrys, I take it," Malcolm said as he stepped an arm's length from her to give them room.

"No, not yet." Lanaya, whom Malcolm believed hadn't aged a sodding day since he last saw her the night of his bonding, gave him a rueful smile. "I believe the unrest in Orlais has delayed him. After hearing of the Mahariel clan's fate, he'd decided he and the Suriel would meet us here. We arrived from the north and did not encounter problems. The south and east, I've heard, have grown increasingly problematic."

"Big mess in Orlais," said Malcolm. "Lots of people being pressed into Duke something or other's service, and if not his, then that of the Empress, instead. Not that you and your lot couldn't travel pretty much unnoticed, and definitely not Emrys' clan."

"War tends to take humans into areas where we would not see them otherwise. That makes it difficult to travel in secret."

"Ah." There was a pause, and when it became clear that Lanaya was going to do the Keeper thing and not just jump into an explanation on her own, he sighed and gave in. "Why's he traveling through Orlais? I'd assumed he went north during the winters here."

Lanaya's smile grew a lot less rueful, approaching a cautious sort of joy. "He, the Suriel, and a few other clans have searching for a place to finally establish Elvhenan once more. They've been scouting far western portion of the Urthemiel Plateau, where it overlooks the Tirashan and is far from human civilization. Our hunters—the city's future guards—could see any approaching army for miles. The beginning of the foundation of this hope has been Keeper Emrys' work for many of the past years, and he'd not planned on leaving it at all until he heard about Líadan." She paused to catch his gaze she said, "He left immediately to take her back."

Malcolm was nodding before Lanaya had even finished. "He threatened to tear me limb from limb if I ever hurt Líadan. I've spoken with him about what's happened, but part of me still hopes that part of him doesn't see this as my fault. You know, because of the tearing limb from limb thing."

"So, imagine what he would do to this Meredith."

"Oh, I do, which is why I wish he was here already. He'd be his own army, if my guesses about his power are anywhere near accurate." Then the rest of what Lanaya had said finally reached his preoccupied brain. "Wait, did you say a city? A Dalish city?"

"Yes, I did. It could put an end to the wandering of many clans, if it succeeds. But the Orlesian Civil War has certainly put it into jeopardy. With Thedas in relative stability, there was really no need to worry about wandering humans stumbling onto it. Maybe the odd two or three per year, but nothing that couldn't be easily dealt with."

Malcolm pretended that 'dealt with' didn't mean kill, because it reminded him that the people of this camp, and even his own wife, had viewed—and sometimes still did—killing humans a necessary thing to safeguard their people. He also didn't much believe they were wrong about that, either. However, still unsettling. A lot unsettling. "But, with a civil war, the two or three stragglers could instead be entire companies or battalions, lost and wandering and foraging."

"Yes."

"Meaning I shouldn't get my hopes up."

"No, probably not."

At times like this, Malcolm really needed Alistair. Even when things were clearly heading straight for the worst, he could keep a positive outlook. There were moments when that positive outlook was so thin as to be translucent, but it was still present, and that would give everyone a little bit of hope. "Were Cammen and Gheyna the only Mahariel to leave their clan for yours?"

Lanaya's smile returned. "In a way."

He rolled his eyes. She could be such a Keeper. Be it Marethari or Emrys or even Lanaya, they all had that frustrating trait of posing riddles instead of giving a Maker-damned straight answer to a question.

She laughed, and then inclined her head toward a different section of the encampment. "Come with me and see."

Keeper Lanaya brought him, Wynne and Shale following, to where the clan's elders watched over the younger set of children, those who weren't yet old enough to sit through lessons. "They stayed with the Mahariel for quite some time, wishing for their Keeper to come to her senses, and they only left when they were faced with no other choice. When Gheyna found herself to be with child, they decided they couldn't allow their child to be born near Sundermount and its darkness. After pleading with Keeper Marethari one more time to move the clan from Sundermount's base, they left, seeking out another clan. It took them two months before they found my clan, and we happily accepted them. That was nearly three years ago." Then she pointed at one of the youngest children, a lithe little boy with a shock of white-blond hair, playing a game of chase with other toddlers. "He is their son. They named him Tamlen."

"A good name," he managed to say, and only said that because he knew it was what Líadan would have said. Tamlen's death, or rather, the loss of Tamlen to the darkspawn taint, had never truly left her. She'd shared many stories with Malcolm as the time had passed, of the mischief they'd gotten up to as children and hunter apprentices, at how they often roped in an easily swayed Junar before almost blaming him if they were caught at their pranks, at how they vetted each other's possible love interests to make sure they were worthy of their best friend, at how they'd vowed to remain hunting partners for as long as they could hunt and defend the clan, and how they'd never expected that time to run out as soon as it had, when everything had changed.

It was a good name, life given again to someone who'd died too young. Maybe when Líadan found out, she'd be able to take that final step past Tamlen's death and let go of that last anchor of guilt where her dead best friend was concerned. Or not, taking recent events into consideration. She'd only be trading one guilt for another.

Later, in the evening, after most of the clan had shared an evening meal with each other and their guests, and then sat or milled about as the hahren began to tell stories requested of him, Malcolm felt a twinge of jealousy when he saw Cammen playing with his son. He recognized the twinge instantly for what it was—he missed playing with his own children.

"It will be good to see your children playing with Tamlen, after they've been freed," Lanaya said from next to him. "They carry the burden of being the last generation of the Mahariel, yet they, children both born and unborn, will bear it well."

"Tamlen is the only elf, though."

"They are still children of the Mahariel, elf or elf-blooded. They will carry the best of the clan with them."

"This is getting maudlin. I'd like to avoid maudlin, if at all possible."

Her laugh was comforting. "I meant to give you some hope. Perhaps another approach is required. Why don't you come meet our young Tamlen?"

It helped more than Malcolm had thought, but Gheyna had retrieved her son from Malcolm and Cammen after the three of them managed to scramble to the top of an aravel, and Tamlen had started to climb the bare mast, with Malcolm and Cammen cheering him on instead of stopping him.

"I thought he was nimble enough," Cammen said as Gheyna walked away with Tamlen in her arms.

"He totally would've made it to the top," said Malcolm. "But he did look like he was getting tired. Maybe give it another go in the morning?"

"Maybe I'll wait to encourage that again until he's older."

"That's fair." Malcolm smiled down at him when he noticed Cammen's proud, happy grin as he watched his bondmate and child. "Pretty awesome, having a kid, isn't it?"

"It is. More than I had thought." Cammen hadn't taken his eyes off the receding figures.

Malcolm nodded, rocking on his feet as he did. "Just so you know, having a brief instant of considering throwing them to the wolves is entirely normal. Then you realize that you're attached to them and you change your mind before the instant is over because you love them."

Cammen raised an eyebrow. "You would truly think that? Even for that short of a time?"

"You'll understand when you see my kids in action." Malcolm refused to say if. He'd get them back, them and Líadan. "I mean, you haven't really seen them since they were barely older than your son, so you've no idea the havoc they can wreak."

"I look forward to seeing them, lethallin," Cammen said with a chuckle.

"Malcolm," came Wynne's special scolding voice from behind them, "your children are quite lovely."

Malcolm knew perfectly well that Wynne only felt that way because she saw them as often as a grandparent would, and Cáel and Ava were perfectly well behaved for her, always. "They are," he said, not bothering to keep the dubiousness out of his tone, "but they're lovely while doing things like trying to set a brother on fire or said brother goading his sister into it. And they don't do those things around you because you're Wynne. You just give them a look and they snap to. I asked Líadan if it was a mage thing, but she insisted it was a Wynne thing, like another sort of magic entirely."

"Don't listen to him," Wynne said to Cammen. "They are lovely."

Malcolm barely kept from rolling his eyes. Yet, even though he'd shown what he perceived as admirable restraint, Wynne gave him a look for it anyway.

He wasn't sure why he even tried. If he was going to get the looks and scolding for doing it, he might as well do the things he was getting scolded for. But, he kept forgetting until moments like these. Then, like he did now, he'd resolve not to forget, but he always did.

In the morning, a trio of Ra'asiel hunters outside his tent, arguing about who would be saddled with the task of waking him up, woke him up. He was happy for it too, because if Ariane or Panowen had drawn the short straw, they'd have collapsed his tent on him to wake him. Cammen probably would've asked Wynne to do it, which would mean unpleasant magic. It was early, though. He had trouble keeping his eyes open—whenever he tried to blink away the dry grittiness, they threatened to stay closed.

"I don't see anything wrong with freeing people from a prison after having a good night's sleep," he muttered over a cold breakfast.

"You only have yourself to blame," said Wynne. "You chose to stay up half the night with the hunters and Oisín, carousing about Maker knows what along with making rather detailed plans of revenge on Kirkwall's Knight-Commander. And not one of you had the forethought to realize that you'd need proper rest if you ever wanted to carry out those plans."

Malcolm almost got mad, but then Wynne pressed a hot mug of tea into his hands, and the anger fizzled out. Maybe she wasn't so bad.

The others, however. They didn't even have the decency to appear even the slightest bit worse for wear. Had to be a Dalish thing. Líadan was like that, too.

"Drink it quick, lethallin," Ariane said from the other side of the fire. "We need to get on the trail if we're to get you to Kirkwall today."

He raised an eyebrow. "What's this? Now you're calling me that?" Next thing he knew, it'd be Oisín calling him that, which he thought was pretty much never.

For a moment, it seemed like she was going to fire off a sharp, glib retort as she usually did with him. Then the dry amusement faded, replaced by a gravity Malcolm hadn't expected from Ariane, not so soon and so far away from Kirkwall. "Things are changing," she said quietly. "More than you and I can see, but everyone can still feel. Kinship isn't going to be marked by blood as it has been, I don't think. Neither does Oisín, and he has stronger feelings about it than I do, as you know."

"Do I ever." Ariane's bondmate had hated him for a time—it'd felt like forever to Malcolm, who'd unfortunately kept running into him, sometimes literally—because Oisín had viewed him as the cause for Líadan to be carrying an elf-blooded child. Oisín eventually relented in his blame, after explanation and admonishment from Keeper Lanaya. And now that Oisín knew of Flemeth's role in the entire matter, he'd finally entirely forgiven Malcolm, albeit years later. Still, he'd not expected an acknowledgement of kinship of any kind whatsoever.

"Then you see how much change has happened." She glanced out at the forest, where wet snow dampened the usual dawn sounds. "And how more change will come."

He set down the mug, stood up, and shook out his limbs. "Now you sound like Keeper Lanaya."

"That's what happens when you repeat the things a Keeper tells you." She smiled as Oisín approached their group. "Or a First."

Oisín half-frowned as he looked between the two of them. "Both of you act like it's a bad thing to sound like a Keeper."

"Only when you speak in riddles, which is a lot," said Malcolm.

"It's true," Ariane said when Oisín looked to disagree.

Oisín sighed, which only made Ariane smile at him more.

Malcolm missed his own bondmate.

The walk to Kirkwall went quietly, though the conversation had been plentiful at first. Then, as they'd gotten closer to the city and Sundermount grew taller and larger on the horizon, conversations had faded away. Each of them kept glancing up at the mountain, Malcolm more than most, distracting him a little too much. He lost his grip on a branch he'd shoved out of his way as he walked down the trail, and only barely managed to catch it before it would've hit Wynne in the face. The snow that'd been on the branch, however, did not stop, and that did hit Wynne full-on in the face.

"Sorry!" he called out over his shoulder, very on purpose not looking behind him.

"We'll speak about this later, young man," came Wynne's reply, which was why he'd not looked behind him.

And, considering the look she'd given him for not rolling his eyes the night before, he mentally took back the apology. He only almost felt sorry.

It was the last bit of amusement he'd have for the next several hours, and he wished he'd held onto it longer.

Their path took them through Sundermount's valley, close to where the Mahariel had once camped. Aravel masts bleached near white by the sun jutted up over the remnants, the gloom making them appear more like dead trees in a Korcari Wilds swamp than the anchors of the bright Dalish sails they'd once been.

Malcolm stopped and, without knowing why, turned and headed for the camp. Then he was standing at the entrance, the dead clan's tattered banners half-heartedly rustling in the wind.

He started walking through it.

"You're going in there?" asked Wynne.

"Yes."

"The elder mage does not believe it to be wise," said Shale.

"I gathered," said Malcolm. "Still going in." Not that he was certain why. To pay his respects, maybe. He'd known these people, as well as a human could. Mostly, they'd been Líadan's clan, Líadan's family, and without them, there wouldn't be her. Without Master Ilen's meddling, there wouldn't have been a them—or a them would've taken much longer to come about, if at all. Without Keeper Marethari, as well as a scheming Flemeth, he and Líadan wouldn't have their daughter.

They weren't the only ones he remembered. There'd been the barely tolerant hunters, or the hunters who simply hadn't cared one way or the other, like Junar. There'd been the city boy, Pol—city elf turned Dalish. More than once, Malcolm had given Pol updates on the family left behind in Denerim's Elven Quarter. There'd also been Maren, the halla keeper, who'd never quite shaken the profound sadness she'd suffered from the loss of the clan's halla. And Maren's little daughter, Saraid, who'd practically been his shadow when he'd first visited the clan here.

They were all dead.

He strode past the husks of the aravels partially hidden under the cap of snow. He lost count of how many snow-covered lumps of scattered possessions he stepped over. He willed himself not to look when he caught familiar items out of the corner of his eye. When he reached the wreckage of Master Ilen's workshop, the snow on it glittering as it melted in the midday sun, he almost stopped. But he had to see whatever this was through, and that decision was what kept him moving forward until he reached the new forest grove.

From where he halted at the edge of it, Malcolm could see snow dusted over burial mound that had only just begun to settle. The trees themselves betrayed the unnatural growth and freshness of the small forest—the leaves were still mostly green, with only a smattering having started to turn the colors of autumn, while the rest of the trees surrounding the grove had almost none, the last few remaining were dry and brown, curled up as they remained doggedly on their branches.

"The spirits here are restless," Oisín said from behind him. "Wynne has helped me keep them at bay for a short time, but their unrest will not subside for long, not with as strong as it is."

"How did this happen?" asked Malcolm. "Does anyone know?"

"We saw it coming," Cammen said as he straightened from where he'd crouched to say a prayer over the graves. "We all did. You already know that was why Gheyna and I left. But I don't think any of us ever thought it would take the entire clan all at once, whatever darkness it was."

"The shadow had begun to encroach upon them long ago," said Oisín.

"He means things went to shit a while ago." Malcolm knew his remark was a reflex from deflecting his own thoughts, at how Líadan must have discovered the same as they had here. From his understanding of her, he started to link together the chain of events that must've taken place for her to end up in the Gallows. When she arrived here, she'd already left him behind, along with what she'd considered her home for many years, and discovering her entire birth clan dead could have pushed her to a breaking point. In her way of fighting her grief, she would've tried to think of who could still be saved. And that would've been Merrill, in Kirkwall.

Grief could make people stupid. It was a painful lesson he'd learned at the start of the Blight, and it had gotten him almost killed more than once. Here, it appeared it'd gotten Líadan captured by templars.

It made for an entirely different sort of grief, to realize it. He stood in the skeletal camp that'd once been home to a clan that'd protected Líadan from the templars. In sacrificing their lives to keep the templars away, her parents had started that protection.

And yet, the death of the clan had led her straight to the templars and their mage prison.

Malcolm scrubbed at his eyes with the palm of his hand as Oisín's own offering of prayers flowed through his ears. Then he started back to where Shale and Wynne had remained outside the camp. The dead could wait. Now was the time to see to the living.

Once they reached the gates of Kirkwall, the Dalish who'd accompanied them left to return to their own camp. Ariane, Panowen, Oisín, and Cammen would wait there for either Emrys to arrive or news from Malcolm, or both. Malcolm, on his part, went into the city with Wynne and Shale.

They headed straight for the Amell estate in Hightown, since it was closer to the gate they'd used. Shale drew some curious looks, which wasn't unexpected given that she was a golem. Wynne drew a few more due to the stave she carried. Those whose gazes turned dark when on Wynne earned glares from her and from Malcolm, who made a show of revealing every bit of griffon heraldry he could on his arms and armor. Then, unwilling to be hassled, he stopped in an alley and had Wynne wear his cloak, where the griffons were prominently displayed. Unless they ran across an entire company of templars or the Knight-Commander herself, they'd be left alone with this much marking them as Wardens. Not that Wynne was a Warden, but she was technically on a Warden mission.

Most of Kirkwall's citizens ignored them, as they tended to do unless something directly concerned them. It suited Malcolm just fine.

Bodahn answered the door when Malcolm knocked. Shale elected to stay outside instead of trying to fit through the doorway, while Wynne walked in with Malcolm. Bodahn greeted them with effusive warmth, as did Sandal in his own way. The merchant turned manservant brought them into the front room, where Merrill was instead of Marian, poring over a book spread on a small end table.

"Mistress Merrill, you've friends here to see you," said Bodahn.

"Oh!" Merrill abandoned her reading and stood as Bodahn bustled off to some other part of the house. "I was wondering when you'd get here, lethallin!" she said to Malcolm, and then threw her arms around him in a rather enthusiastic hug.

"A few minutes ago, actually," he said as she let go. "That's when."

She stepped away, and then exchanged introductions with Wynne. Before those were over, Bodahn had brought Leandra to meet their guests. Marian's mother and Wynne got along fantastically right from the start, which didn't surprise Malcolm at all. What did surprise him was how restrained Leandra was. Not that she didn't normally tend to be somewhat closed—Malcolm's mother, Eleanor, had been much the same—but the tightness in her smile made him think she was holding something back. But, if Líadan were hurt or worse, Merrill would've told him already. And even if Merrill hadn't wanted to tell him, she would've, because she knew it wasn't something to be kept from another.

Still, he worried.

"You are more than welcome as guests in my home," Leandra said to Malcolm and Wynne. "We've more than enough rooms. And the golem friend of yours—"

"Shale," said Malcolm.

Leandra nodded. "Yes, Shale. She's… it's a she?"

"Some years ago, we discovered that the dwarf who volunteered to become a golem and who eventually was made into Shale was a warrior woman from Orzammar."

"Marian has the most interesting friends." Leandra recovered her composure quickly. "Well, I'm not sure what sort of accommodations a golem requires, but she is welcome to them."

"On my behalf and on Shale's, I accept your offer," said Wynne. "We've been traveling for quite some time. Have you bathing facilities? I would avail myself of them if you do."

"Of course! I'll have Orana draw up a bath for you, if you'll come with me."

"I don't think we're that dirty," Malcolm muttered a Wynne practically flitted off with Leandra, the two of them already chatting amicably about whatever it was people of their age spoke about. Methods of scolding, probably. "We did bathe while we visited the Ra'asiel. Hot water and soap and everything."

"She probably wants to soak," said Merrill.

Malcolm raised an eyebrow. "You think? I always thought soaking was boring. All that laying about. The one time I tried it, I brought a book with me, and promptly dropped it into the water. Never tried it again. Too dangerous for the books."

Merrill laughed, which Malcolm took as a good sign, considering what he'd seen of the graves of the Mahariel earlier. He hadn't been sure how Merrill would've taken it, since he didn't know her as well as he knew Líadan. But it wouldn't have been easy for anyone to take, especially since Merrill and Marethari had shared somewhat of a mother-daughter relationship.

"I'm sorry about your clan, Merrill," he said, because it needed to be, and he wasn't going to let it hang there.

"So am I." Then she glanced away for a moment. When she turned to him again, the lost look had largely faded from her eyes. Then she said, "If you're looking for Hawke—and you probably are, since you're visiting her house—she's out with Sebastian and some… others. They should be back soon. Varric's with them. It's good that you're here."

"Is it?" He still wasn't entirely sure, because he still wasn't entirely sure of what he'd find.

Merrill's eyes brightened, and it was only then that Malcolm realized how much they'd dulled from their usual vividness. "You've come to get them out, haven't you? You and the rest of the Wardens? She won't be caged anymore?"

"It's not…" He glanced over where Wynne had left with Leandra, and then went back to Merrill. "It's just me. I'm the only Warden. Wynne came with me, as you saw, and Shale. We're it."

"I thought there would be more."

Merrill's frown made Malcolm frown. "Doesn't Anders know of escape routes? I thought that's what his Underground was all about."

"Not anymore."

His frown deepened. "But you know they're there? You're certain?"

"Yes. We found—" She stopped and took him by the hand. "It's better if I show you. Come see."

Though puzzled, he followed her because he trusted her implicitly. She brought him upstairs, then to one of the hallways he knew led to the many guest rooms of the estate. If it hadn't been Merrill leading him—like if it'd been, say, Isabela—he'd have suspected some untoward motives. With Merrill, though, he well knew she didn't have any.

Merrill stopped outside a room at the end of the hall, and then slowly opened the door. "This is what I meant," she said as she brought Malcolm inside.

Set out on the bed were possessions he recognized instantly. After a moment's hesitation, he strode into the room, shrugged off his pack and set it aside before standing beside the bed. Then he lightly ran his fingers over items he'd last seen with Líadan and the children as they'd left Denerim. The well cared-for saddles that should have been on their horses, packs with Warden insignia, saddlebags with the same, but those were the mundane things. His fingers tingled as he swept them along the length of the ancient Dalish sword still in its scabbard. His thumb settled on the grip of the Dalish bow, where the leather had been worn down by Líadan's thumb. The grip had been replaced several times over the life of the bow, but a length of the original leather string always remained at the top, along with the knot Malcolm had tied in it at Master Ilen's request.

It was a bow Malcolm had helped make, providing what unskilled labor he could, as Master Ilen had sneakily aided Malcolm in finding a way to procure a proper bonding gift. It'd taken Malcolm a while to catch on, but he eventually had. Then he'd finally gotten the stones to ask, and she'd eventually said yes. His heart still thrilled at the memory, how she'd unconsciously kept hold of the bow, and how that single action had given him hope.

Now she wasn't holding it, and she hadn't voluntarily set it down.

Next to it was Ava's one-horned halla, along with the book Cáel had brought with him. Malcolm brushed over them before going to his pack. He dug out the book and the doll he'd carried with him from Denerim, and then carefully placed them beside his children's other possessions.

"Is that the doll Cammen made for Ava?" asked Merrill.

"It is. She forgot it in Denerim, so I brought it with me, as a reminder. The book is Cáel's—he's got a bit of an obsession with them." Then he smiled over at Merrill. "Cammen's still alive, you know. He and Gheyna had left a couple years ago. They're in Keeper Lanaya's clan now."

Merrill smiled brightly. "I didn't know! That's wonderful! You saw them?"

"The Ra'asiel are in the Planasene, waiting for Emrys and his clan. That's where I saw them. And they have a child. I met him, too. They named him Tamlen."

Merrill's smile had yet to disappear. "Líadan will like that."

"I know. But we can't tell her because she's trapped in the Gallows."

"But not for long, now that you're here."

"We need more Wardens if we're going to get them out. Unless Marian has a plan?"

Merrill shook her head. "She wants to use Anders' contacts to find out what routes the Underground uses, but she hasn't been able to find him. No one has, not for a while."

"Do you think he's gone?"

"I don't think he's gone. I'm afraid that he's gone. I'm afraid of what might have replaced him. If something has, I don't think it's our friend. Not like Anders was. Not even like Justice was. We've had… we've had too many people go, too many people on the verge of going lately. I don't want to see anyone else leave."

"I know," he said, returning his gaze to his family's possessions laid out on the bed. "I don't want to lose them, either." It brought another necessary, yet terrible question to mind, and he dreaded the answer. "Has anyone heard about Revas? She was with them."

There was a long pause before Merrill said, "No. No one's heard, not that I know of. Or Varric, and he knows everyone. He's the one who found their horses, everything of theirs except for the bow, and he hasn't even heard whether or not Revas survived. Maybe she was injured and one of the Fereldan families in Lowtown picked her up and nursed her to health."

He shook his head. "She would've died defending them before she let up. Sure, you could hope that maybe she got knocked out, but I can't imagine the templars wouldn't finish the job." Templars had done the same to his mabari, Gunnar, in what felt like a lifetime ago.

Merrill remained her undaunted self. "Well, it never hurts to hope. And I think we could all use some, especially you."