Chapter 41
"Knowledge is but one-half of wisdom. But there are many things that can only be known too late."
—Qunari saying
Malcolm
Malcolm stopped and closed his eyes. Maybe they were still fighting Vengeance. Maybe Marian hadn't knocked him out of the nightmare Vengeance had inflicted on him. Maybe Marian would come along at any moment and bring him out of it.
"Oh, lethallan, they've made a mess of your vallaslin," Merrill said as she bustled past him, undeterred by what she'd also seen. When Malcolm opened his eyes, he saw Merrill tracing the curved dark lines broken by a Chantry brand. "I think maybe I can fix it, if you like me to try," Merrill was saying.
"It does not matter," said Líadan. "I am no longer Dalish, which means I no longer require the markings of one." The words marched from her mouth, organized and logical and not in her voice. Hers had never been so toneless and flat. Her heart beat within her chest, but Meredith had killed her all the same.
"Papa!" came two simultaneous shouts, and Malcolm scarcely had time to blink before small arms were thrown around his legs and hips as he was accosted by his children. Both of whom, he noticed right away, were alive and well and had no brands on their foreheads.
It wasn't the nightmare he'd thought, but it was still nightmare enough.
"Mamae isn't right," said Ava. "Can you fix it?"
"I don't know."
"They made her Tranquil," Cáel said slowly, the boy's body absolutely wracked with an outraged fury that shone from his eyes. Never had Malcolm thought his son to resemble both of his mothers as much as he did in that moment. It was if he held the rage of both women combined, were Morrigan to allow her full temper to show, and Líadan not emptied of the temper she'd once had. "There is no cure," Cáel said to his sister. "I told you earlier. They should have killed her. It would've been merciful."
Ava started to cry.
How does it feel to know I hold what is dearest to you? How does it feel to know that I control whether they live or die?
And now he regretted not landing the killing blow on Meredith. Very much regretted.
"I don't think Meredith was aiming for mercy," said Malcolm. "Maybe this was her intent all along."
"Is she dead?" asked Cáel.
"Yes." Of that, Malcolm was entirely certain. There was no way Meredith could have escaped retribution from that many Wardens.
The boy nodded with finality. "Good."
Some of Malcolm's anger slipped away as he tried not to gape at his son. This was not the same boy he'd seen off with his mother more than a month ago.
They had taken his son's innocence. He wasn't even eight.
Somehow, that realization hurt just as much as finding out he'd lost Líadan. Not knowing how he could help Cáel, he knelt and pulled Ava into his arms, hoping he could at least soothe her tears. He forced down his own as he wondered what Meredith had taken from his daughter, after she'd already taken his wife's spirit and his son's innocence.
A young apprentice cautiously approached them, naming herself Sylvie. The children seemed to know her, and willingly followed when she brought them away to eat with the other children—a gaggle of far too young Circle apprentices. Bethany went with them, just in case, leaving Malcolm staring at the other end of the room. Merrill had broken away from Líadan, and Líadan had returned to the task of aiding the healers.
She'd never once looked at him. She'd not even looked at their children.
"I would tell you to go see your bondmate, but…" Merrill had come to stand beside him. She sighed in resignation, an odd sound from her. "She isn't who she was, lethallin. She isn't anyone."
He stood up, clawing for what to do. He hadn't allowed himself to believe his nightmare would come true, because he hadn't truly believed the world could be that terrible. He'd been wrong, and he should've known better.
Behind them, the doors opened. When they turned to look, it was Morrigan stalking through and toward Malcolm, with Nathaniel just behind her. "Meredith is decidedly dead, as are the templars who did not surrender." She turned from him after he acknowledged her news, and her eyes scanned the crowd for the same people he had. "Where—" A small gasp replaced whatever she'd planned on saying next. "I had never foreseen you paying such a terrible price in protecting Cáel, my friend. Laying down your life, perhaps, but not this." Then she went to her, weaving through the thinned crowd. As Malcolm followed, getting as close as he dared without gaining Líadan's attention, Morrigan took Líadan's hands in her own. "Those responsible will not even begin to comprehend the price I will exact from them for what they have done. Yet, it will never be enough, for I was too late. They have killed you already."
Then her hand moved upward to cast a spell. Malcolm rushed toward them, bowling over more than a few mages along the way. He pushed himself between Morrigan and Líadan, grabbing Morrigan's wrist just in time.
Her eyes darkened in fury, and lightning wrapped around Malcolm's body. If he moved, the lightning would strike him and kill him and Morrigan probably wouldn't feel bad about it at all.
Well, maybe a little, but not enough to stay her hand.
"Tell me now why you would dare leave her like this?" asked Morrigan.
"There might be a way," he said. "To save her, I mean." Might. Might. And that would depend on Rhys being safely in Orzammar, awake and healthy and having retained his faculties, yet it would still mean a journey there with Líadan like… like this, like she wasn't supposed to be.
"Tranquility cannot be reversed. It is the worst thing the Chantry has ever done to those with magic."
Malcolm didn't move, but he wouldn't have even without the lightning around him. He knew what he'd seen, he knew what the importance of the knowledge he'd stayed around the White Spire to assure it didn't die, and he had to make Morrigan believe what he did. "I saw it reversed. I saw it myself." And he prayed he'd see it again, even if it meant weeks from now. Better that than have her dead, because if there was no cure to be had, he knew damn well what Líadan's wishes were.
Morrigan's gaze bore into him, digging through every layer of his soul to find the truth of his words. He knew that if Morrigan found him wanting, she might very well kill him—discovering Líadan's Tranquility had unbalanced her that much, as it had him.
The magic released and the lightning crackled harmlessly into the ceiling. "Tell me what you saw," said Morrigan. "Leave nothing out."
Not that he would have in the first place, because that would be stupid. Merrill led Líadan away as Malcolm started. But he'd barely begun before a couple of the mages who'd left to go scouting to verify the safety of the Gallows returned, a templar trailing behind them.
Malcolm recognized him instantly, and then moved toward him nearly as fast. "You!" he shouted, the memory of what he'd seen too painful for him to look again at Líadan, who still hadn't so much as addressed him. He shoved Cullen into a wall, and just for good measure, shoved him again when he bounced off it. The mages who'd accompanied Cullen tried to object to Malcolm's sudden burst of violence, but he ignored them, because Cullen was his only target. A target he needed. "You did this!"
Cullen surprisingly didn't defend himself, instead slumping against the wall after the second shove. He scrubbed at his forehead with the heel of his hand. "Everything coming to a battle? I admit some culpability because I did not attempt to intervene with Meredith sooner, but—"
"Not that," said Malcolm.
"You made her Tranquil, templar," said Morrigan. "You will pay."
Horrified, Cullen's eyes moved to look beyond Malcolm, beyond the others milling about the room, and to the opposite side, where Líadan was. He paled. "No. I didn't. I stepped between—"
"Even if you didn't do it yourself, you did nothing to stop it," said Malcolm. "You're the Knight-Captain! Things like that don't happen without your approval, tacit or otherwise."
His gaze swung back to Malcolm. "I did everything I could to stop it. I even—look, I can show you if you let me go."
He didn't let him go.
Cullen sighed. "I was the one who sent you the necklace. Were I in a position to prevent it, I would never have allowed this to be done to her. If I had believed her weak enough to fall to a demon, I would have killed her years ago. You were there. You saw what I saw. I stayed my blade. My confidence in her has not waned over the years. If anything, it's grown."
Malcolm remembered: This man was the same templar who'd watched Líadan fight off the pride demon, the same templar who'd witnessed the shifts and flickers of her body as the fight raged on in the Fade, and yet had the presence of mind and fairness of judgment to hold his blade until there was no hope to be had. If he'd done that years ago, then like he'd said, he wouldn't have allowed her to be made Tranquil years later.
He let him go.
"If you cannot stomach it, I will be rid of him," said Morrigan as she stepped forward to take the place Malcolm had abandoned.
He held an arm out to stop her. Morrigan's anger momentarily focused on him, and it took almost everything he had to not show how concerned that made him. "He isn't our enemy," he said to her. "The thing he was talking about? I was there. He's fair for a templar, however that works. Líadan was nearly possessed by force. He was present for her fight, and didn't kill her right away as most templars would've done. He waited until he was certain the demon had her entirely, and it never did. If he'd believed her weak enough to fall then, he wouldn't have hesitated. If he believed her strong then, he'd believe the same now, which means Tranquility would never have been on the table. He isn't the one to blame."
Morrigan's fingers dug into the skin of her crossed arms in a clear attempt to stay her own hand. "Fine. You absolve the templar. However, we cannot ignore Líadan's situation and how she got there, which means this templar still need provide us with an explanation."
"Those are lyrium burns," Bethany said as she joined them, having been sent by the mages Malcolm had brushed aside. Cáel and Ava accompanied her, and they went straight to Malcolm. Ava went so far as to take his hand in hers, Cáel pressed against him on the opposite side, and both of them stared at Cullen. Malcolm belatedly realized that he'd not seen Cullen this ragged since the Blight, when he'd been caged and tormented by demons at Kinloch Hold until he and Alistair and the others had freed him. Maker, if he'd just opened his sodding eyes instead of throwing accusations, he'd have seen it sooner. Cullen had the look of a prisoner, not a jailer.
Bethany pointed at marks on Cullen's arm. "There, partly in the shape of…" She turned a shocked look onto Cullen. "What did you do?"
The last of the tension left Cullen's body. "I stepped in between them. I stepped between Meredith and her brand and Líadan. Part of it singed me, only part, and yet it burned, you have no idea the pain. Then she put me in the dungeon, and it still didn't stop her."
"When?" asked Morrigan, the threat now gone from her voice at proof of the templar's dedication.
"A week ago?" His brow furrowed. "I think a week ago."
"Not so long," said Morrigan, whose glance went in Líadan's direction for a brief moment. "And yet too long all the same."
"How?" asked Malcolm. "How could it have gotten to where your direct intervention was even necessary?"
It wasn't like he didn't know why, even as he asked the question. Really, it was more a matter of how it hadn't happened sooner, not that it'd happened at all. He waved off Cullen before the other man could attempt to answer. "No, that's a stupid question. Anyone who knew Líadan knew that this would—" He bit down on the grief and forced himself to remember that they had a way of fixing it, and just because that way of fixing it was in Orzammar and had the slight chance of not remembering the ritual or not being alive at all, didn't mean a way to reverse it didn't exist. Líadan wasn't past tense. Not yet, even though it'd felt that way when he'd looked at her.
"It was inevitable," he said after a moment. "But what basis did Meredith use for it? If she was going to do it without reason, she would've done it right away. But if it's only been a week, then she had to have a reason, however weak it would be to the rest of us."
"She…" Cullen sighed. He seemed to be doing that a lot. "She had a reason. A very good one, when you look at it from her point of view, or perhaps even the point of view of other templars. Líadan tried to escape. It was a plan First Enchanter Orsino had put into place before I'd made contact with the Seeker. After I was able to get the Seeker to take a message out, I told Orsino the plan was off. It was too dangerous." Cullen stopped and waited until Malcolm was looking directly at him before he continued, "The route they'd picked had a Veil as thin as the one at Kinloch Hold. Beyond that danger, which was enough to put a halt to the entire thing, Meredith was waiting for such an attempt. One of the mages who'd claimed to be helping the Underground was working for Meredith. The escape was over before it started."
"Where is this mage?" asked Morrigan. "I will deal with her myself."
"Dead," said Cullen. "Knight-Commander Meredith killed her. Couldn't let a blood mage go, she said. Grace was a nasty piece of work, I admit, and I didn't disagree with the action Meredith took there. But it was all just an excuse, really. She'd carried the brand with her, and went to apply it immediately. Senior Enchanter Betrys—she was the other Underground mage—she tried to stop her and one of the other templars killed her for her efforts. Then it was up to me. I thought that if Meredith saw her Knight-Captain objecting to her use of the Rite, that she would reconsider."
"Instead, you pissed her off," said Malcolm.
Cullen shrugged. "To be honest, she seemed more betrayed than angry. Either way, it seemed she couldn't have been stopped, no matter who or when anyone intervened." He shook his head. "After what happened in Ferelden, I told myself I would never again question the purpose of the Order. For many years, I did just that. Not anymore."
"Enough." Morrigan held up her hand, moving Cullen to immediate silence. Then she addressed Malcolm. "Explain what you were going to explain before we were interrupted."
It meant that as soon as Malcolm opened his mouth to tell her what he'd seen, the doors opened again and more people trooped inside. Marian was at the forefront this time, looking more irritated than she should have if Meredith had been killed. Then again, with Meredith gone, it left Marian without anywhere else to direct her anger and grief over her mother, and then it made perfect sense that she remained angry.
Still. Malcolm had to make sure. "Who got the last blow?"
Marian scowled even more deeply. "The Maker."
"What?"
"You'll see when we get outside."
He blinked. "You're not joking, are you?"
"I wish! The Maker stole my kill, that thief."
"He did entice a woman into adultery of a sort," said Sebastian. "Thievery might not be beyond his purview."
Marian's irritation briefly faded as she gave Sebastian a shocked look. "I never thought you'd admit that about the Maker."
"I would never hide the truth of anyone's failings, mortal and immortal alike."
"And Choir Boy is again honest to a fault," said Varric as he moved past them.
"Is everyone coming in this time?" Malcolm asked.
"Not at once. Wynne's still out healing Wardens. Speaking of," said Marian, and pointed at Malcolm's side, "you should get that looked at."
Behind Malcolm, Bethany quietly asked Morrigan if she wanted to heal it, but Morrigan snapped that he could suffer through it, if that's what he wanted. It served to inform Malcolm that Morrigan was probably as angry with him as she'd been before Cullen had appeared.
Ignoring their side conversation, Marian continued with her own. "Aveline took the ferry back to Kirkwall. Order to restore, she said, and she needed to get to restoring it. I suspect she'll get it done. The rest'll be in soon, I imagine, but Hildur's keeping everyone from rushing in at once so as not to alarm anyone. Alarming mages is bad, as you know, and especially so when it comes to mages who are already on edge." She kept up with her stream of words, barely pausing, and Malcolm recognized it for what it was—she didn't want to face who wouldn't be waiting for her in Hightown. That Leandra wouldn't be there. She wouldn't be at the estate or the market, the chantry or a salon. She was gone, and Marian needed a hundred things to do to keep from acknowledging it. Malcolm didn't blame her, but he also knew that Bethany wasn't engaging in any of the same acts, or betraying any hurt at all—and Bethany had never been one good at covering her feelings to any effective degree—which meant that Bethany still didn't know.
When Varric took over the narrative of what'd happened after Malcolm, Bethany, and Merrill had gone into the Gallows, Malcolm glanced over at Marian, essentially asking about Bethany.
Marian shook her head. She wanted Bethany to have this time, Malcolm realized. It wasn't just about not wanting to talk about it. Everyone dealt with death in their own way, and he wouldn't be the one to interfere. When Marian looked away, Malcolm let his eyes flash quickly to the opposite side of the room, but Líadan was hidden within the throng of mages. Small mercies.
Cáel and Ava still hadn't left Malcolm's side, though they'd gone quiet, listening intently to the adults around them and, just as carefully as Malcolm, avoiding looking at the other side of the room.
As Marian and Varric had predicted, the rest of their friends drifted into the Gallows in small groups. Nuala, Perran, and Cianán, along with Revas, were among the second. Nuala let out a happy noise on seeing the children, and she went straight to children who were no less exuberant. On her way by, Nuala gave Malcolm a fond squeeze on the arm before she was accosted by Cáel and Ava. But Nuala noticed immediately that something was amiss, that neither child was as happy as they would have been if everything was well, and she asked them where Líadan was.
"She's not," said Cáel, his hand holding onto Revas' collar like a lifeline.
"Is she—" Nuala stood and looked at Malcolm. "Is she dead?"
"Worse," said Malcolm, and he stopped there. He couldn't say the rest out loud.
Not that he needed to, not to a single person who called a mage friend or family. "Where's the person who did it?" Nuala asked, her eyes darting straight to Cullen.
Her look was dark enough that Cullen put his hands up and backed into the wall. "It was the Knight-Commander," he managed to say.
"And she's already dead," said Marian, who'd withdrawn from her conversation with Sebastian when she'd heard Nuala's question. "You passed her in the courtyard. Looks like a red crystal statue. I'd tell you to kick her on the way out, but you'd only hurt your foot." Her glare shifted to Malcolm. "You didn't think to mention this? Here we are, thinking everyone's as well and safe as we can make them, and meanwhile, meanwhile—"
"Oh, Hawke, you can't really have expected him to just tell you," Merrill said from the middle of the room. Líadan was next to her but not, her but not her, empty of who she was and Malcolm could barely look. "Unpleasant as it is, anyone can learn how to tell others that their loved ones are dead. But no one learns how to tell anyone that the person they love isn't dead, but is." Only then did Malcolm see how tightly Merrill held Líadan's hand, and how the bewildered look Líadan kept giving their joined hands cut Merrill just a little more each time. It was why he couldn't look much at all, and why Cáel and Ava hadn't brought themselves to try.
Revas bounded away from the children once Cáel's hand went slack, heading straight for Líadan. Unlike her all-out tackle of Malcolm, Revas eased up just enough that she merely staggered Líadan. And for a brief, hopeful moment, Malcolm thought that maybe Revas would bring Líadan out of it.
She didn't. As soon as Revas made eye contact with Líadan, the mabari whined and retreated. She pressed against Malcolm, as if seeking the same reassurance his children had, and then let herself be surrounded by Cáel, Ava, and Cianán, who'd joined them.
Marian turned on her heel to face Malcolm, who served as a handy target for her surfeit of anger. "Líadan told you what she wanted if she was ever made Tranquil. Why's she still like this? Why is she still alive? Do I need to do it?" Then her anger faded just enough to show the sympathy underneath. "It's all right if you can't, but it does have to be done. It's cruel not to."
"There's a way to reverse it," he said. "That's why I haven't done anything else yet." Then, before he could be interrupted again, he told them about what he'd seen in Orlais, and more specifically at Adamant. He was fuzzy on the details, and really couldn't name why the ritual had to be done in a place like Adamant, but did his best. "The thin Veil had something to do with reaching the spirits easily. Or something."
The mages listening didn't look terribly impressed with his efforts.
Merrill's response was the nicest one, and yet it hers was puzzled at best. "That's very different from speaking to spirits the usual way."
"What Merrill isn't saying," said Marian, "is that it's probably beyond the scope of your understanding of magic."
Like he wasn't painfully aware of that. "Oh, most magic is beyond the scope of my understanding. I was just saying what I heard and saw."
"Then perhaps if you know nothing, you should say nothing," said Morrigan.
Clearly, she was still pissed at him, since apparently what he'd said hadn't given her any hope in the slightest. And that meant, in Morrigan's eyes, he'd only delayed mercy, which was a capital offense when it came to her friends.
He grimaced. "Can someone get Wynne? She was there. She can tell you. And she understands all those magic things that I don't, so she can explain it properly enough that maybe you'll believe me."
"I will fetch her," said Sebastian.
It took forever. At least, it felt like it did, with no one saying anything, with Líadan standing right there and not leaving and not letting them have the mercy of remembering her as she was, of tricking themselves into thinking that she was fine so that they could function enough to deal with the truth. Instead, their failure stared them right in the face, and they couldn't bring themselves to look away.
Cáel and Ava became distressed enough that Nuala and Bethany led them elsewhere. Even Cianán seemed off, as pale as he'd been before the battle with Vengeance, his eyes jumping to and from Líadan, as if he were trying to confront a fear and failing. Maybe he was. At first, it seemed that Cianán had wanted to follow the other children, but his draw toward Morrigan was stronger, and he kept close to her side, like Malcolm's children had done with him. And Morrigan said nothing in rebuke, nor did she physically separate him, as her own mother would have done. Instead, she placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder and that said enough.
Malcolm had seen Líadan do the same thing with Cáel and Ava, and he'd even done something of the sort, though he usually had to bend a bit to reach them. It was a far cry from Flemeth's methods of parenting Morrigan. Malcolm believed Morrigan the better, and Cianán benefitted from it.
Wynne stepped inside the room, her hands holding her stave a little too tightly for her to be merely carrying it. Rather, it appeared to be supporting her. As she had at the end of the fight with Vengeance, Wynne looked tired. More than tired. Possibly more than exhausted, and Malcolm felt bad that they'd brought her in here.
She noticed Líadan's condition right away, and while the pain in Wynne's eyes was a reflection of everyone else's, her reflex was to heal what couldn't be healed. For the second time that day, she was defeated by the limits of mortal magic, and she let her hand drop to her side.
"Malcolm said there was a way to reverse it," said Marian.
Wynne nodded, though her eyes hadn't moved from Líadan; she was the only one of them with enough courage to face the truth and not flinch. "Yes." Then she turned to address the rest of them. "There is a ritual involved, which my son knows." Morrigan raised an eyebrow at Wynne's mention of her son, but Wynne ignored it. "It involves summoning a spirit from the Fade and convincing it to briefly possess the Tranquil mage."
"From what I've heard, that's impossible," said Cullen. "That's why the Rite even exists—to prevent possession from happening."
Wynne sighed. "Which is why a ritual is involved. Spirit or demon, they have to be tricked. A spirit will willingly leave once the Tranquil is restored. A demon, however, will not. So you can see which method is the preferable of the two."
"So a spirit touches them long enough to wake them?" asked Marian. "Is that the gist of it?"
"I believe that is what most of the ritual entails," said Wynne. "I haven't learned it, myself. Not yet. Rhys was going to teach me, but…" She faltered.
"He was injured in the escape from the White Spire," said Malcolm. "He's in Orzammar with the other mages, but when we parted ways, he hadn't regained consciousness."
"So there could be a chance that no one at all knows this ritual," said Marian.
"All we have to do is convince a spirit to step inside for a short time?" Cianán asked before Wynne could snap at Marian. "I think I can—"
"No," said Morrigan. "Right now, the Fade is not safe, even for you. Not with how much blood has been spilled."
"But most demons are afraid of me."
"Demons are not the only danger to lurk in the Fade."
"Your mother," said Wynne.
Morrigan nodded. "The elves reported Fen'Harel loose in the Fade, as well." Then she knelt to her son's level. "You may have the soul of an Old God, and hold great power because of such, but you are yet a little boy, and very much mortal. We are trying to prevent death, not welcome it. This is not like any of your walks in the Fade. This is not even akin to simple dreaming. It it were, the Circle would have discovered this cure long ago. You cannot try to do this, even in an attempt to prove that you can."
Cianán looked mostly convinced, and without needing a prompt, Wynne provided the rest of the convincing. "Every mage is vulnerable," she said to the boy, "no matter how accomplished or powerful. That is and should be the first thing we learn. Overconfidence can lead to recklessness, as an action such as trying to enter the Fade when the Veil has been weakened or sundered would be."
"The person you want to help save wouldn't want you to get hurt trying," Morrigan added, and Cianán finally nodded. Morrigan nodded back. Then she said, "Perhaps it would be best if you joined the other children, for now. They could use a friend, I suspect."
"I'll take him," said Nathaniel.
Malcolm had completely forgotten he was even there, that was how quiet Nathaniel could be. Even more surprising was that Cianán trusted Nathaniel enough to follow him. Morrigan did not object, which meant, despite her protests, she trusted him, as well.
"Maybe we can go to the Planasene and wait for Keeper Emrys," Merrill said once they were gone.
"We don't need to wait," said Wynne.
"Recklessness is not limited to young mages," said Cullen.
Wynne frowned at him, and it wiped any sort of scolding from Cullen's expression. "Enough from you, young man," she said. "I don't have to enter the Fade to speak with a spirit."
Cullen practically rolled his eyes at himself for not remembering. "Yes, right. Spirit healer."
But Malcolm knew that wasn't what Wynne was talking about, because it wasn't the same sort of help. If it was, they wouldn't need a ritual or a thin Veil or any of that at all, just a spirit healer. No. Wynne had something else in mind and Malcolm stared at her when he began to catch on. He wanted to object. He knew he should. Then he knew that what he feared was exactly what Wynne was talking about, and he knew exactly what would happen to her if she did it. If the spirit sustaining Wynne left her body, even for an instant, Wynne would die. She'd explained it to him and their other companions during the Blight. Even if the spirit's absence was only the short moment necessary to awaken a Tranquil mage, there was no way around it. They could either journey for the weeks it would take to get to Rhys, if he would even be able to perform the ritual, or they could wait however long it would take for Emrys to arrive, and he still might not be able to do anything.
And during all the time they waited, they would be left with a Líadan who wasn't alive. They could face that reality, or they could let Wynne die to bring her back where they stood. To ask Wynne to do this, to allow her to to this without protest, was selfish. Wynne was his friend. Wynne was Líadan's friend. Wynne was a friend to their children, and yet he couldn't bring himself to speak. He could only stare.
It was Morrigan who spoke. "'Tis the choice you wish to make, knowing the outcome for you?"
"What outcome?" asked Marian, who began to look suspiciously between Morrigan and Malcolm. "You two seem to know, but I'm still in the proverbial dark."
"She will die," said Morrigan.
Marian glared not at her, but at Malcolm. "You didn't mention death being a result for the one performing the ritual."
"We aren't doing the ritual," said Wynne. "I have an uncorrupted spirit sustaining my life, as it has been since it aided me in the defense of the children at Kinloch Hold. My way will render entering the Fade unnecessary."
Cullen jumped a bit at Wynne's admission, but while his eyes showed how startled he was, they held no fear nor judgment, nor did his hand reach for a sword. "While I have many questions, and some reservations on hearing your words, I also know what you did at Kinloch Hold. What, it would seem, a spirit helped you complete. It's hard to argue the good that came of the spirit's intervention, and from what I have heard and witnessed since, the spirit aiding you has remained uncorrupted."
Malcolm decided that not telling Cullen about Anders' demise would be for the best for now.
"So you aren't going to go all templar on her?" asked Marian.
He shook his head. "No. If I were to be honest, my own reactions and mindset for quite a long time after the events of Kinloch Hold were far more suspect than Senior Enchanter Wynne's own. However, I must ask one of my many questions—how? How will you do this?"
Morrigan had leapt far beyond the rest of them reaching full understanding of Wynne's plan. "She will ask the spirit to enter Líadan's body in order to restore her connection with the Fade. With the spirit gone, Wynne will die." Morrigan sounded disturbed at the thought, which surprised Malcolm. Wynne and Morrigan had barely tolerated each other when they'd traveled together during the Blight.
Marian still hadn't stopped looking at the rest of them as if they'd collectively lost their minds. "And none of you object?" When no one offered her any of the objections she obviously expected, she turned to Wynne. "This is what you want? Really?"
"Wynne is a person of sound mind, capable of rational thought," said Morrigan. "The choice belongs to her, no one else."
"I know it does." Marian's exasperation with Morrigan began to approach frustration. "But there are other choices. Keeper Emrys, for instance. He's a Dreamer and the Dalish said he's going to be in the Planasene. We could go there. Ask for his help."
"When will he be there?" Wynne's question was surprisingly sharp.
Marian balked. "Soon? Soon-ish. And…" She sighed at realizing the objection. "And not soon enough, apparently."
"I am well aware of each and every alternative." Wynne had returned to her patient tone—the tone she used when delivering bad news—as she counted off their other options. "It could take weeks for Keeper Emrys to reach the Planasene. Weeks are too many and too long. Or we could find a stable area for the Veil and have Cianán try—"
Morrigan snapped her head around, eyebrow raised in warning.
Wynne held up a hand to ward her off. "—but that carries too much risk, and it will for some time due to the amount of blood that has been shed this day. For him to even walk the Fade in an attempt to find Keeper Emrys is too dangerous, and he is too young and too important to risk. Or there is the option of my own son, who knows the entire ritual, except that we cannot be certain that he has retained his mind at all after the injuries he suffered at the White Spire. It would take weeks to get to Orzammar—possibly longer, considering the upheaval across Thedas right now—and we can't even be sure of help once we arrive." She reached out, took Marian's hand in hers, and gave her a sad smile. "For each day a Tranquil mage continues to be Tranquil, the harder the recovery is on the mind. You see, every emotion they should have felt while Tranquil will be released in a storm. The longer the time, the greater the storm, and the higher chance of the mind being permanently affected. Malcolm, Shale, and I have seen the results of a reversal on a Tranquil mage after it had been too long."
"He was relieved," Malcolm said without prompting. "Pharamond was relieved when the Lord Seeker sentenced him to be made Tranquil again. He wanted that or he wanted to die. That was how bad it was for him." And as Malcolm watched Marian's eyes widen slightly as the full explanation of the possible suffering struck, he began to fear not only Líadan's Tranquility, but what would happen after, if it could be reversed. He wondered how much damage a week could do, what the flood would be like when her emotions returned, and he knew that wouldn't be the entire struggle. Líadan did not like to be controlled, and Tranquility was the ultimate in the loss of control, and there was no telling how that alone would affect her, much less anything else.
One thing he did know for certain was that she would not want to remain Tranquil, even if the aftermath of a reversal would be a terrible trial all its own. She would rather a fight over existing as nothing, or death. He wasn't entirely sure how Líadan would feel if Wynne died to make her whole again, but Morrigan had a point—it was Wynne's choice.
Mostly. He frowned. There was a spirit of faith involved, after all. "Wynne, will your spirit agree? I've heard spirits of faith are picky."
"The spirit suggested it before I finished thinking it."
Morrigan glanced between Líadan and Wynne, followed by opening her mouth and immediately closing it. Then she pressed her lips together in a line, looking impossibly more troubled, and when she crossed her arms, she confirmed the nature of her thoughts.
"Out with it," said Marian. "Now isn't the time to hold back."
Morrigan gave her a cursory look of annoyance before she turned to Wynne. "There is one more possibility. During the Blight, after you and the others visited the temple in the Frostbacks, Leliana took a souvenir, as it were. A pinch of the ashes for herself. I do not know what she has done with them, if anything at all, yet if they are still within her possession, they remain a viable option."
"You're telling us about her stealing some of Andraste's ashes now?" asked Malcolm.
"The information was not necessary for anyone else to know before. Now, it is necessary, and so I have shared."
To be fair to Morrigan, she had never been one to volunteer extraneous information. The problem was that sometimes what she believed to be unimportant was emphatically not to others. He gave Morrigan a small nod of acknowledgement, and then caught himself wondering when and how Leliana had taken any of the ashes while they were there. But he hadn't gotten very far when Wynne gave Morrigan her own nod.
Then Wynne surprised him. "I already knew about the pinch of ashes she stole. I discovered it some years ago, though admittedly after the Blight. However, like the other choices left to us, it would take too much time. How would we reach Leliana? How long would it take to find her, much less travel to her, or even her to us? Who is to say she would agree to using them for Líadan?" She roughly shook her head. "No. This isn't something that can be left to chance, not now. Not when there will be little damage to repair. Not when she can be saved. I am an old woman. I should have died years ago. Yet, I was sustained, and perhaps this is why. I have free will, and this is my choice."
"Shouldn't we…" Marian hesitated, guilt over her unasked question clear as she flicked her eyes toward Líadan and back. "Shouldn't we ask the other party involved in this?"
"For one willing to kill her not moments ago, you show remarkable confidence in her current capacity to decide," said Morrigan. "But ask away, if you must. 'Tis not like we do not already know what her answer will be in her current state."
Marian asked.
Malcolm couldn't look as Líadan gave her answer, not when it was her voice but not, her face but not, absent of the animation it was supposed to have. "Sound reasoning would argue that waiting offers the better choice," said Líadan. "It would mean greater flexibility and no potential losses of life."
"Except yours, you mean," said Marian, expressing the regret that Líadan could not.
"I am alive," said Líadan.
Morrigan slowly shook her head. "No, my friend. You are not alive in ways deemed fit for living."
It was clearer an answer than any of them had imagined, made only more impossibly clear when Wynne said to them, "Now you've heard for yourselves the reason for the path we must take." Without waiting for them to acknowledge her words, she slowly strode over to Líadan, who didn't move. Wynne reached up and touched the sunburst brand on Líadan's forehead, then brushed an errant hair away, as one would do for a loved one. "I can heal this," she said to Líadan.
Líadan said nothing.
"I will heal this," Wynne whispered, her voice as broken as Líadan's had been empty.