Notes: This chapter title is not from a metal song. It's a slightly altered lyric from the early Renaissance ballad "Greensleeves," which Leliana sings here.

This chapter was very difficult to write, and I ended up doing something I wasn't really planning to do at the end. I think that I had to, because otherwise it was going to be too miserable, but again I will let you be the judges.


Chapter 7: A World Apart, My Heart in Sad Captivity


It was happening again.

Caitlyn was in a strange stone room that she had never seen in life but knew very well indeed in the Fade by now. This must be it, then. She waited in resignation for the inevitable to occur.

The door opened, revealing a hooded and cloaked person. She could not see the person's face, but the voice was that of a man.

"Come," it intoned, the voice strangely attenuated but familiar—the voice of her brother, more or less. Caitlyn caught a glimpse of the lower part of his face, just his mouth and chin.

She did not want to go. This being was going to take her to the body of her father. That's what it always had done before. And yet, her feet moved as if they had their own free will. Stone gave way to more stone, a labyrinth of concentric circles, dark little rooms carved out of them.

"You are not really Carver," she said. "Whatever you are, you take his voice because he brought back my father's body, but you're not he. I don't know if you are a demon or just a memory that my own mind created, but you're not my brother."

"It hardly matters what I am." Caitlyn held her breath as they approached the room where her father's corpse always, always lay—but the hooded and cloaked being kept walking. A feeling of dread settled in Caitlyn's gut. Where were they going? What fresh terror and trauma lay in store?

"Here." The figure stopped in front of a different cell and pushed the door open with a sound of rusty metal squeaking together.

Caitlyn did not want to look inside. Whatever this was, it was surely a horror she had not yet experienced in her dreams. As awful as the deteriorating body of her father was, it was at least familiar now in a grisly way. She knew what to expect in that area of the Fade. What was this? She didn't want to look. She did not want to enter that room.

Whatever you do, don't go into that room, she thought. You can never unsee whatever is there. Even if it's only the Fade, it will be seared into your memory for the rest of your life. Don't go in.

And yet she did.

There was a chair in the room, and a person seated in whose back was turned to her—but she recognized the clothing. She would recognize that feathered mantle anywhere.

"Anders!" she exclaimed. She turned to speak to the Carver-entity, but it was gone.

"Did you require something of me?"

Anders' tone was flat, empty, dead—completely unlike anything she had ever heard him say. "Anders, it's me, it's Caitlyn."

He remained facing away from her. "Yes, that is your name. Did you require my assistance? I assist the residents of this tower."

Something was very wrong, and Caitlyn once again wanted to get out of this room. She turned around—but the door was gone. There was no way out. The Fade had reshaped itself to form a solid wall of stone. "Anders, what's the matter with you? Turn around and look at me!"

He did not hesitate. Rising to his feet, he turned to face her.

His honey-brown eyes were as lifeless as his voice. His face was flat and soft. Caitlyn opened her mouth as the awful truth dawned on her—and as she noticed the mark on his forehead, she screamed.

"Why do you respond this way? I do not understand this response. It is a peaceful state."

"No, no, no!" she shouted. "It's not true! It's a dream, a demon, the Maker-damned Fade—"

The thing that bore Anders' face disappeared, mercifully, and then the stone room. The Fade was dissolving to black.

Caitlyn awoke in her bed, her eyes wide open, her heart thudding so loudly that she could actually hear it.

It can't be true, she thought. This was far, far worse than the nightmare of her father's body. She felt guilty for even thinking that, but it was so. It was a month since his death, and they were still grieving deeply—but he was gone, and they had given him a funeral, which brought some tiny measure of peace. She would miss him for the rest of her life, of course. She still had Mother, but it just wasn't the same. No one in the family—no one, not even Bethany—had understood her the way Father had. But he was gone, and nothing could harm him now—not Blighted creatures, not Templars, not anything. He had died a free mage, as he had wanted. He had died in the company of a person he cared about, knowing that one of his children would have a child of her own. And the family knew, more or less, what had happened to him. He had fallen, Anders had tried to give him a pyre, and the Templars had—had—

No. They took him to the Circle, and that is all that you know for certain that they did. This is a sick, evil dream, probably a creation of a fear demon. That thing that takes on Carver's voice probably came up with it because Father's body doesn't shock me anymore.

But it could be true, her treacherous mind whispered. It could be. Anders had escaped many times before. He was gone for six months this time. They might have been so angry with him that they did make him Tranquil.

I don't want to know, she thought, staring at the ceiling. If they have mutilated and destroyed my love and the father of my unborn child, I do not want to know. Anything would be better than that, even if he escaped the Circle again and chose not to come back to me. Even if he died. I'd rather think anything else. He wouldn't want me to have to think of him that way, either.

But of course, once she had fixated on the ultimate horror, her brain left her with no choice but to think of it. That twisted image of Anders' face wormed its way back into her thoughts, sealing itself into her memory forever, just as her Fade-self had known and feared. All the vivacity, the intelligence, and the stubbornness that made him himself had been gone from that face, leaving nothing but a dead, flat affect, gazing at her with empty eyes, caring nothing for her or their son, unable to do magic, unable to feel or dream of anything ever again. She had never seen a Tranquil, but her father—a pang hit her upon thinking of him—had told her and Bethany about them, and the image was all too clear.

A jolt of nausea struck her at the thought—and then the pregnancy-caused state of general malaise and sickness took over, exacerbating it rapidly until she felt the urge to vomit. She scampered down the ladder to the bunk as quickly as she could, throwing open the casement window and emptying her guts. In the lower bunk, Bethany stirred awake.

"Cait?"

She retched out the window, feeling as if her very stomach was turning inside out. Tears streamed down her face from a combination of the dream, the pain of vomiting, and some involuntary physical connection to the vomit reflex that Anders probably could've explained...

Bethany touched her sister's back. "Caitlyn, would you like something to drink?"

She let out a sob as she carefully eased back inside, covering her face in embarrassment. She nodded and sank miserably into the chair.

"It's all right," Bethany said, returning in a bit with a cup of apple cider. Her sister accepted it gratefully. "You know what Mother said when this began to happen."

Caitlyn realized that her sister thought she was only upset from the pregnancy sickness. "It wasn't just that," she whispered. "I could handle that." She placed a hand over her belly protectively. If that dream was true, this little one is all that's left of the real Anders. And if it's not... Maker, let it not be... but I still can't be reckless. He is so precious. Whatever else I do, I can't let anything happen to him. She closed her eyes and felt tears stream down her cheeks.

Bethany placed a hand on her shoulder. "Nightmare?"

She nodded.

"The usual? Or something worse?"

"Much, much worse." She dabbed at her eyes. Bethany did not pry, Caitlyn noted even amid her own pain, but she felt that she had to explain. She took a deep, shuddering breath. "I think it was inside the Circle, or how I imagine it to be based on Anders' descriptions." She wiped her eyes. "They... it was Anders. They had put that brand on him." She let out another sob. "It was awful."

Bethany did not need further elucidation. "Oh, Cait," she said compassionately. "I'm sorry. I know this probably means nothing, but I don't think they would have done that."

She hung her head. "But you don't know."

There was nothing Bethany could say to that. She stood beside her sister until Caitlyn finally got to her feet shakily.

"Would you like to share my bed tonight?" Bethany asked. "It's a single bed, of course, but I think we can squeeze."

Caitlyn nodded again and gave her little sister a hug. "Thank you."

The two sisters piled onto the bunk, Caitlyn on the outside in case she had a bout of nausea again. Although it was a warm night, Bethany cuddled her sister to try to bring her any comfort possible.

"I can cast a sleep spell, if you don't want to be in the Fade again," she offered.

Being in the Fade was absolutely the last thing Caitlyn wanted right now. Even a "good" dream would be awful, though for different reasons—a happy illusion yanked away. "Please," she urged.

Bethany readied her magic and sent her sister into deep, dreamless, almost instant sleep. She sighed sadly. She didn't think that her sister's worst fear was true, but she had to admit that she had no hard basis for that. It was a hope, nothing more. And she knew very well that it could be a false hope.

Footsteps approached the room. Bethany glanced up as her mother and Carver both appeared at the doorway, Leandra holding a candle.

"Is she all right?" Carver whispered.

Bethany gave them a quick nod. "Mostly. It was a terrible, terrible dream, and then she had to be sick."

"Poor dear," Leandra said, compassion filling her voice. "I miss Malcolm so, so much—but I still think she may have had it the worst of any of us." Tears welled in her eyes. "It's so unfair."

There was certainly nothing that any of them could say to contradict that.


Caitlyn's nausea continued for several more months until it finally tapered off. It was around the same time that she began to show her condition in earnest and found herself desiring odd foods at odd times. Her mother had warned her of that.

He could have warned me too, she found herself thinking even though she would have preferred not to. Every time something pregnancy-related came up, he came to her mind, the one who should have been her Healer, supporting her and reassuring her all the way. They should have been sharing this experience. She should be climbing into the extra loft space that had briefly been set aside for him, before Carver had mercifully dismantled the empty bed, and cuddling against him happily, not piling into her little sister's too-small bunk bed to cry almost every third night. The thought of his hand on her now bulging abdomen, gently casting a diagnostic spell—feeling his magic throughout her body—

He's not here, she thought, ending that line of thought before it became too painful and brought her to tears yet again. If—if he can, I'm sure he feels the same way and is trying to get back to us.

She liked to think about Anders planning an escape from the Circle tower. It was a pleasant—well, comparatively pleasant—alternative to the other, worse possibilities. If he was alive in the world and... could... then he definitely would be thinking about how to achieve that, at the very least. Maybe he was out even right now, as the thought of his escaping crossed her mind. Maybe they would see him again very soon. He knew, after all, that he just had to get to their little cabin on the other side of the woods near Lothering, and he would be safe inside the ward.

Father's ward.

On top of everything else, she felt guilty and conflicted about the fact that she seemed to be devoting more unhappy thoughts to Anders, whom she had known for six months, than to her own father. She wanted to think Father would understand, and of course, there were reasons why she felt this way, why her mind was doing this. As tragic as his fate was, she knew what had happened to him. She did not know exactly what had killed him on the road, but she found that she didn't need to have that amount of detail. She knew what had become of him. She did not have to speculate about whether he was alive or dead, free or imprisoned, a full person or a mutilated shell. His ashes were in a small urn on the hearth. She, Carver, and Bethany had lit his pyre together the night that Carver had returned, with magic and with a torch that Carver set aflame with a match. She was grieving him, adjusting to life without him.

Well, she was also adjusting to life without Anders, but the difference was that she knew her father wasn't coming back. It was sad, and increasingly, it made her angry—because he wouldn't have died if he hadn't needed to try to get Anders free of the Circle—but she knew that some modicum of peace was at the end of this tunnel. Her sadness would subside with time, and she would be able to find a poignant, melancholy contentment in thinking about happy memories with her father once again. The anger, too, might be productive... somehow... if there were anything she could actually do someday about the policies of the Circles. But there could be no peace as long as she had no answers about Anders' fate. Her thoughts were dogged by both a soaring hope that he could turn up any day and a sickening fear that the Templars of the Circle had destroyed him.

And... Maker forgive me for even thinking it... but I always expected my parents to die before I did. Though I never wanted to think about it, I did expect that someday I would experience the loss of my parents. It was too early; his life was surely cut short from what it should have been, but... this is not wholly unnatural.

Father was Mother's true love, Caitlyn thought. Mother mourns him in a way that we cannot as his children. But I think I understand some of what she is feeling.


Wintermarch 9:28.

Bethany was not much of a Healer, but she was better than her sister, who could not do it at all—and it was utterly impossible that the Hawkes, who still had two apostates in the family, could hire a midwife who would see all the paraphernalia and books about magic in the cabin.

Caitlyn's delivery late at night in the cold winter was about as unpleasant as she had expected. Her sister had been able to do something, but her knowledge of that school of magic was limited compared to what their father had known, and most especially to what Anders... knows, Caitlyn thought, determined to be positive on this day. Knows. I hope.

However, once her sister had managed to cast a basic spell to knit her birth injuries back together, and once her mother had given her a warm compress to relax her strained neck muscles, she found herself not thinking about the pain—the physical pain, at least. The emotional pain of the two gaping absences, the two people who should have been here for this birth but were not, was not so easily forgotten—and it was all the more so when Bethany handed her newborn nephew to Caitlyn and she got her first look at the child she had produced.

Her heart nearly broke all over again at the sight of the baby's hair color. It was honey blond, utterly and completely identical to his. She felt a pang for the fact that this baby had apparently not inherited her own color, her father's color—but at the same time, she liked this. No matter what, she would be able to look at her son and see something of Anders. Still, it hurt so much. He would've wanted to see. He would have wanted to be here for this. Even after what had happened to her father, he would have wanted this. He does, she thought determinedly. Not "would have." He does. His thoughts are with us right now, and he regrets that he isn't here. He's furious that he isn't. Father is watching this, and Anders is thinking about it. I'm positive of it.

Her thoughts about her father were at least supported by the religion she had been brought up to, and were comforting in a familiar way. It was nice to think about him looking down fondly from beyond the Fade, perhaps aware of what her future held, serene with the knowledge that everything would be all right in the end. Her certainty about Anders' thoughts was different and a little unsettling. It was irrational, and she couldn't explain her sudden conviction, but somehow she was utterly certain that Anders was indeed thinking about them this very moment. He couldn't have known the precise due date, even as a Healer... but somehow, she knew that he was thinking of them, of her, of this baby, right now. That conviction did not bring her comfort, because she was also utterly certain that he was suffering greatly from these thoughts.

I'll protect him, love, she thought, as if she could reach him through her thoughts. I'll take care of him. You just take care of yourself. Don't do anything desperate and foolish. We can wait for you.

She had asked her mother for permission before deciding on the name. They would not use the full name—the loss was still too raw—but perhaps one day they could, once he grew into it. Malcolm Anders Hawke was quite a big name for such a little fellow, but "Mal" was the right size.

Caitlyn held him close, closing her eyes in an overwhelming mix of joy and sorrow. I won't leave you, she promised her baby silently. I will be here for you, and I will never let anyone take you away no matter who or what you are.


"We should go into the village," Leandra said a couple of days later. "It's only proper to present him at the Chantry."

Caitlyn glowered at the very word, suppressed rage simmering behind her green eyes, as she clutched her days-old infant to her breast. "That is almost the last place I want to go."

Leandra gazed at her sympathetically. "I understand your anger, but please, they didn't cause this. The Revered Mother didn't... the Sisters didn't... even the Lothering Templars didn't. He should be presented there. It will be tough for him in life if there is no record of his naming at a Chantry..."

"Both of his parents are mages," she said stubbornly, refusing to meet eyes with her mother, staring instead at her son's tiny blond head. "Most likely, he is too."

"But if he isn't..."

"You know what his second name is. I'm not putting that in Chantry records. Not a chance. I might as well draw a target on his head. They know Anders was in Lothering. They'd guess immediately."

"We'll keep that to ourselves, then," she urged.

Bethany touched her sister's arm gently. "Caitlyn, you haven't left the house in weeks. It's not healthy. Let's just go into the village. You can decide then if you want to go to the Chantry." She looked up and gave a fixed look to her mother. "And he is your child, so it is your decision, not Mother's. But let's at least get out of the house."

She sighed. It was true; she had not wanted to leave the house once the coldest part of winter set in, especially since she had been so close to term. But the family house in winter now brought out some very painful memories from a year ago, memories in which she had been wallowing on purpose, but which were making her feel bad from sadness, anxiety, and—increasingly—anger. Anders knew when she was due, approximately. He had escaped several times before. Why hadn't he managed it when she needed him most?

She knew she was being unfair to him, that since he hadn't come to them, it was because he couldn't—for whatever that reason might be—rather than because he did not want to. But such were the increasingly dark and angry paths that her mind was starting to tread, now that she was a new mother and he was still gone. Perhaps Bethany was right and she did need to get out.

She rose from her chair. "All right," she said heavily. "I must bundle him up, though."


The town was not nearly as bustling as it was during the warm months, but the establishments that were open had made that clear with their signage. The tavern, of course, was always open, as was the general store. But to the Hawkes' surprise, two additional signs were tacked to the door of the weaponsmith.

"A litter of mabaris!" Bethany exclaimed in delight and surprise. It was odd for a mabari to whelp in winter, but someone's clearly had.

Carver noticed the second sign more than the first. "The army of Ferelden is sending out a recruitment drive in spring," he said, beaming. He turned to his family. "All levels of skill welcomed."

"This is your chance to train with a greatsword, then," Bethany approved.

Caitlyn was pleased for him, since he wanted to do this and the urge had lasted a year. It seemed to be real and she was happy that he would finally have the opportunity... but she was more interested in the puppies herself. "That's great, Carver! And let's see the litter too," she urged. "Maybe one of us will imprint."

"I hope so," Leandra said as they entered the smithy. "It would be such a mood boost for all of us..."

Holding little Mal close to her chest, unashamed, Caitlyn strode to the smith's assistant. "The puppies," she began. "Do you still have them?"

The assistant nodded. "Five of them. None of them have imprinted yet, and we won't let anyone take them unless that happens, you know."

"Let anyone take them? They aren't for sale?"

"Well, no," he said. "We didn't pay for them ourselves. They came from the bann's manor."

"Why didn't the bann want a litter of mabaris?"

The man shrugged. "His kennelmaster says that his bitch 'mismated' with a mabari he didn't want to breed with her," he replied.

"But they are mabari?"

"Oh yes. I don't know what the bann was trying to breed... his man says they were the 'wrong color' for the bann, but they look good to me. Why don't you take a look? Maybe one of 'em will like you."

The Hawkes followed the assistant to a back room, where a litter of puppies played together on the floor. At the approach of people, they sat at attention, staring at their new visitors with intelligent eyes.

One particularly intrepid puppy, a light brown one, stepped forward to Caitlyn and gave a high-pitched yap. She got on her knees, passing Mal to her mother in case the dog disturbed the newborn. The puppy nosed against her outstretched hand before letting out another, very happy yap and wagging its tail. Its littermates were uninterested in the other Hawkes and completely accepting as Caitlyn picked up the puppy, eliciting another bark of pleasure from it.

"Well!" exclaimed the smith's assistant. "That's the quickest I've seen!" He glanced at the puppy. "That one's a male. He has been really skittish until now. That's an imprint if I ever saw one!"


Caitlyn's new puppy was collared and leashed quickly, since she had to carry her baby and an imprinted mabari should not be handled excessively by anyone other than its master, but the puppy did not actually need a leash to know to follow its new family around. Carver, meanwhile, had spent time talking with the smith himself about army recruitment and was elated.

Caitlyn was feeling good enough that she was now amenable to her mother's idea. As they approached the Chantry, she turned to her family. "I'll do this," she said in a quiet voice. "They won't let a dog inside, though, so the rest of you should find a warm place to wait."

The puppy let out a plaintive yip as his new mistress entered the building without him, but he understood that she was coming back soon. The rest of the Hawkes, and the dog, went to a nearby shop to wait for her.

As soon as Caitlyn stepped inside, she heard a woman's voice in very low, very quiet prayer. In front of all the benches, a woman dressed in Chantry robes knelt, murmuring words. Her back was turned, so Caitlyn could see clearly that she had short reddish hair—not as vividly red as Caitlyn's, but definitely a flaming hue. As she approached, she detected a heavy Orlesian accent in the woman's voice.

The—sister?—stood up, suddenly aware that she had company. "Oh!" she exclaimed. "I did not hear you approach! Forgive me."

"No, I didn't mean to interrupt," Caitlyn said at once. In her arms, baby Mal stirred, letting out a mumble of complaint. "I was here to... well, to register my son. I suppose I should see the Revered Mother for that...?"

"Oh, he is adorable," exclaimed the sister, gazing at the baby's face. "And if you wish to see her, then of course I will fetch her, but I must tell you that she is unwell today and did not come to the Chantry. You may not wish to expose your little one to sickness in this cold, no? However, you need not delay! I can do the rite for you!"

Caitlyn was a bit taken aback by the sister's exuberance. "I... suppose so, then," she said, feeling overwhelmed. "I beg your pardon, but I don't think I have ever seen you before."

The sister looked genuinely abashed. "I am sorry—you must think I have the worst manners in Ferelden. I am Sister Leliana. I am indeed new here."

"I am Caitlyn Hawke, and this is Malcolm." She gave the sister a brief smile. "You came from Orlais, I guess?"

Sister Leliana nodded. "I lived a... very different kind of life in Orlais, and I wished to retire from it to a life of peace and quiet contemplation, so I became a lay sister and came here. Your village is pretty and quaint, yes?"

"By which you must mean 'simple and rustic,'" Caitlyn said with a wry grin.

"Oh no!" Leliana protested, and her voice sounded sincere. "There are many kinds of beauty. Something does not have to be golden and studded with gemstones to be pretty. Lothering is a very sweet little town. I like it here." She peered over baby Mal again, as he was awakening. "But we have business, do we not? Come, we will take him to the sacred brazier—unless you are waiting on someone else? The baby's father?"

Yes, I am waiting on him, she thought with a pang of sadness. To Leliana she replied, "His father... is not here."

Leliana glanced at the sapphire ring that Caitlyn wore on the finger that one would normally wear a wedding band. Her eyebrows momentarily knitted together in confusion at the sight, given the most obvious possible implications of Caitlyn's words—that she was a widow, that the baby's father had abandoned her, or that she did not know who the father was. The presence of the ring seemed to disprove all of those, and Caitlyn could see curiosity burning in Leliana's sharp eyes as to the story here, but Leliana had the manners not to ask. "Then let us do it," she said kindly.

They had just finished the sacrament of naming when Leliana realized that two more people had entered the Chantry. Giving Mal back to Caitlyn, she turned around and welcomed them, introducing herself and asking if she could help them with anything.

"We're just here for our sister," Carver explained. Bethany accompanied him, but Leandra—and the puppy—were still waiting elsewhere.

"You do have family," Leliana said to Caitlyn, smiling compassionately at her. "I am glad. A new mother should not be alone."

"My family was... sadly reduced in size last year... but I am not alone, no." He is, she thought. If he still lives, if he still feels, he is alone. Her heart hurt at the thought of it.

"I am sorry for your loss," said Leliana. "He... died, then? Last year? Forgive me if I am prying."

"My father died last year. His father is... missing." And I've said too much already, she thought. I should have just claimed that they were both deceased, but I didn't want to say it for fear that it might be true now. "Thank you for your kindness, Sister Leliana." Her heart beating in sudden anxiety, she pulled her baby close and left the Chantry with her siblings quickly.


Caitlyn named her new mabari puppy Baldwin, "bold friend" in one of the old tongues of Ferelden. It seemed fitting for the puppy's inquisitive nature that, if the smithy assistant could be believed, only had appeared for her. Although the puppy was bonded to her now, he would play with the rest of the family as long as his mistress was nearby. Caitlyn smiled contentedly at the pleasant scene, Carver and Bethany tossing toys to the exuberant puppy as she nursed Mal next to her mother.

"I'm glad I went to town today," she said quietly. "Now we have a dog again, at least."

Leandra touched her shoulder. "I am too. You can't help him by being sad and miserable all the time. He will try to return as soon as he can. I'm sure of it."

"Unless he never can now." She sighed. "I just wish I knew. I don't know whether I should hope or grieve, Mother, so I'm doing both—and neither. I can't let him go as long as I have hope, but I can't embrace that hope fully as long as I have those two dark fears for him, death and..." She trailed off; the second fear was still almost impossible to voice. "That's why this is so hard."

Leandra was silent for a moment before answering. "I think you will have an answer someday."

Knock, knock.

All four Hawkes old enough to understand gazed at the door, startled. Caitlyn's heart skipped a beat. Was this it? Had someone finally come to take her and Bethany away? Or was it—could it be—

Leandra rose to her feet and opened the door shakily. Caitlyn gazed at the threshold. She almost didn't remember at first—but there was the Chantry sister she had met that day. Leliana. That was her name. On her guard, feeling her hackles rise at the sight, she passed Mal to Bethany and went to the door to confront the woman, feeling her face set in anger as she approached. I knew I said too much. She was curious about something that was none of her business, and she must have done some research and drawn the correct conclusions. I won't stand for it.

"Why are you here?" she demanded of Leliana without further prelude. Beside her, Leandra gasped, shocked at her daughter's rudeness, but Caitlyn continued without pause. "How do you even know where we live? Did you make inquiries after I left? What is your business here—and are you alone?" She gazed past Leliana, seeing no one else, but did not let her guard down.

Leliana was not taken aback, but instead, seemed to have been sadly resigned to such a reception. She opened her arms and hands wide. "I have not brought or told anyone else," she said. "On my life, I swear it. I did go to the village records to look up your family, because I wanted to help you after what you told me today."

"I've never had an act of charity from—from one of you in my life," Caitlyn snarled. Her mother sighed in surrender and defeat, ceding the conversation to her aggressive daughter.

"That, I can sadly believe," Leliana said. "There are many sisters, brothers, and priests who are very... sanctimonious. But I truly have come here to offer succor and... and comfort, if you wish. Perhaps even help, since you said that your child's father was missing. I have... skills... from my life before I became a lay sister."

"I don't believe you. This is all far too convenient," Caitlyn said. "And nobody does big favors for other people that they just met. What is your real agenda, sister? What else did you find out about my family?"

Leliana shivered in the cold night air but continued to explain herself in resignation. "I... have a suspicion... about your family, but—"

"Speak it."

Leliana steeled herself before finally answering the question. "You are very isolated. The few townspeople I asked said that you had kept to yourselves for years. Since your parents had three children, that would suggest that it is not a matter of a couple or single individual preferring isolation, but rather, that there is something you are hiding. Is someone in this family a secret mage?"

Caitlyn was struck dumb, but her sudden silence answered the question for Leliana.

"I do not share the narrow views of many of my fellows," Leliana pleaded. "I would never tear apart a family for that. I worked with an apostate elven mage who loathed the Circle of Magi, before I became a sister. Please."

Caitlyn turned aside, unable to speak or even look at Leliana. Leandra took over. "Of course you may come in," she said kindly. "Please forgive my daughter."

All three Hawke siblings were on edge as Leliana sat down in a chair. "I have brought no one," she insisted. "Nor have I told anyone."

"The others at the Chantry won't go looking for you?" Caitlyn finally managed to say.

"We do not disturb each other in evenings. It is a time for quiet contemplation or acts of charity. Tonight I have chosen the latter."

"And what exactly are you here for?" she asked. She sighed heavily as she accepted her baby from Bethany again, holding him protectively. "I suppose my mother is right that I was hostile, but you have to understand... I'm going to be suspicious of someone I met by happenstance turning up and declaring that she can 'help' find a person because of mysterious 'skills.'"

Leliana nodded penitently. "I suppose you are right. I allowed my enthusiasm to carry me away. It was a strange offer, yes? But that does not mean it is a false one."

"Let's slow down," Caitlyn said.

"You are right again." Leliana gazed out. "So... you are mages? All of you?"

"No. I am, and my sister is. My father was too." She was not sure why she suddenly trusted Leliana with that information, but the woman had clearly already figured out a large part of it—and it was peculiar; Caitlyn knew that she might be lying about being sympathetic to mages, but if so, she was a very good liar indeed. There was nothing false about her tone or expression.

"And... the father of your little son?"

Caitlyn held Malcolm close, suddenly protective and distrustful again. "What of it? He's not here. And I have some questions for you now."

"I promise you, I will keep all your secrets for you, because I do not wish you to come to harm."

"I'm sure you don't. But most in the Chantry don't think that the Circles are harmful."

"I do not agree, as I told you. It would obviously be harmful to break apart an innocent family. Your father must have lived in the world for many years without causing harm, and you and your sister too. He must have taught you, yes?"

"He did." She sighed, suddenly affected emotionally by the flood of memories.

"Why must mages be taken away from their families to receive instruction and training?" Leliana said. "Your father could teach you, and I am sure it is just as well as the Circle Enchanters could have. But," she collected herself, "you had questions for me."

"What, exactly, did you do in Orlais? And why did you come to Lothering?"

"I was a minstrel—no, I was a bard," Leliana admitted as the Hawkes all drew back, eyes wide. "I played the Game until I... could not anymore. A Revered Mother of Orlais helped me to escape that life. I came to Lothering because of what I said; it is a quiet, peaceful, pretty little town, very unlike Val Royeaux. It is just what I needed."

"A bard," Caitlyn repeated. She stared hard at Leliana. "And you expect that to make me more likely to trust you?"

"I do not expect that, but it is still the truth. Would you have had me lie to you?"

She sighed again. "No."

"I realize I am asking you to trust me on very little," Leliana said, her hands open wide again as she spoke to all the Hawke family, "but I will tell you this, for you to believe if you can, for it is also the truth. The apostate elven mage of whom I spoke at your doorway was also trapped with me at last, and the Revered Mother who rescued me also rescued him. She did not turn him over to the Circle. I do not see things the way the... traditionally-minded... in the Chantry do."

The Hawkes were all silent except for the occasional yips of the puppy Baldwin and the quiet, mild complaints of Mal. Finally Caitlyn spoke again, and her voice was almost breaking as she did. "He was a mage too. They captured him and took him away last summer."

Leliana gazed compassionately at her. "I'm so sorry."

She felt tears spring to her eyes again. "My father went with him to try to help him. He died first—not at the Templars' hands, apparently, because my brother found his body laid out to be immolated." She rubbed her eyes. "I have no idea what happened to him. To... my baby's father, I mean." For some reason, she did not want to say Anders' name to Leliana, though she knew it would make no difference now. "I have nightmares that they took him to the Circle Tower and made him Tranquil."

"This happened last summer?" Leliana asked.

"In Justinian."

"Then I do not think they have done that. I am not just saying that to comfort you. The... Tranquil"—she noted Caitlyn's grimace, but it had to be said—"cannot lie or refuse to answer questions. If he was with you long enough to fall in love with you, they would have asked questions about his activities when they caught him. If he had no will in the matter anymore, he would have told them about you and your family by now. Whatever became of him, I do not believe it was that."

She took a deep shaky breath, nodding slowly as Leliana's reasoning filtered into her brain. "You're right. We would have been paid a visit by Templars by now." A great weight seemed to lift off her chest, and she burst out suddenly with gratitude. "Thank you. My father could have told me that, but he is gone. I didn't know. I didn't even think of it. None of us did. Thank you so much—and I am sorry for being so hostile to you."

"I understand why you were, and it is all right—I forgive you. It was a fortunate chance that you came to the Chantry while I was in prayer—but no, it may not have been chance. Perhaps Andraste directed our meeting so that you could have hope again," Leliana suggested ingenuously.

Caitlyn knew now that Leliana meant well, and was speaking innocently, but this was one thing she didn't want to hear. "Sister Leliana," she said stiffly. This was difficult for her; a part of her suddenly wanted to snap at Leliana again with bitter cynicism, but it was nonetheless apparent that this woman meant well and was a kind spirit. "Please do not speak of Andraste to me right now. This happened because of people serving Andraste. My father died because he went with my child's father, and what happened to him was done in Andraste's name."

Leliana looked away, pained, then faced Caitlyn again. "I know, and I think it was wrong. There are many who believe that they serve her... but some of them are mistaken. It would not be the first time that evil is done in her name, and yes, that is a harsh word, but when I see what happened to your family... I think it is a fitting word. It is evil to tear apart loving couples, to destroy families, to sever the bond of parent and child without cause, and to me... magic alone is not cause. Your father trained you, and if your son is a mage, I am sure you and your sister will teach him well. If a young mage has no one who can do that, then the Circles serve a purpose... but there is no need to lock them away for life even then."

Caitlyn laughed sadly. "Then we do agree. But you must be nearly alone in your profession to think that."

"Oh, no," she said. "I am definitely not the only person in the Chantry who disagrees with what is done to people like you. There are other interpretations of Our Lady's words that magic is meant to serve man. In fact... I think that the Circle, as practiced, violates the spirit of her command, since mages cannot serve others with their talents if they are locked up."

"The people who believe as you do must not have power in the Chantry, then."

"It is true that most of those in power think very... traditionally." Her words were sad.

"It seems to me that we need to make you the Divine someday," Caitlyn said daringly.

Leliana finally laughed. "I am only a lay sister! But my mentor in the Chantry is a powerful priest in Orlais, and I mentioned her mercy for an apostate mage... so there is hope in the future." She smiled. "Now, I also mentioned that I was a minstrel and a bard. To be very specific, I came here because I hoped to offer music to lighten your hearts. Do any of you sing or play?"

Bethany spoke up shyly at last. "I play the lute a little bit."

"Excellent!" Leliana exulted. "Do you know... hmm. I suppose I should not sing Orlesian ballads here. A Fereldan song, perhaps? What about 'Greensleeves'?" She glanced at Caitlyn, then Leandra. "If it is too sad..."

"It isn't," Leandra said at once. "That is, I cannot speak for my daughter, but I think it's a lovely song."

"Yes," Caitlyn croaked. "It's about a woman, too. My mother and I... lost men. It won't make me think of... him." She gave Leliana a sad smile. "It's a beautiful ballad."

Bethany returned from the bedroom with her lute, which she handed to Leliana. "I'll just sing along," she said. "I doubt I can play as well as a professional minstrel."

"I am happy to hear you later, though," Leliana said, accepting the instrument, "and offer you lessons if you would like." She strummed it and began the song.

Caitlyn could not quite manage to sing along. The words were very sad even though the verses of the ballad did not make her think specifically of Anders—or of her father, for that matter. It was sad in a beautiful way, though, and she was glad to be part of the audience for Leliana and her sister. She found herself wondering if Leliana might be singing of herself... or of some woman in her past.

When she was finished, she handed Bethany back her lute and turned to Caitlyn again. "That elven mage I know," she said. "He has connections to the Mages' Collective, a secret organization for peaceful apostates in Ferelden. They may be able to acquire a list of all mages of the Fereldan Circle and their... status. You would... have answers of a sort, that way."

"So you really can help me find him."

Leliana chuckled. "I cannot promise anything, but if I can put the skills that I once used for evil to a good purpose, I will be happy to try."


Notes: The puppy is indeed Hawke's dog in the game.

One more chapter of Hawke's viewpoint, which will contain the result of Leliana's research, her relationship with Leliana, how and why that ends, Leliana's departure with the Grey Wardens, and the destruction of Lothering. You know what that will mean, sadly.

After that are two chapters of Anders as a Grey Warden. Then—finally—Kirkwall.

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