Notes: The Hawke/Leliana parts of this chapter are also not explicit. As I said, I do know the reason that people are reading this story and it is not for them.

The chapter title is from "Angel Down" by Lady Gaga on Joanne.

As a warning, this chapter is probably yet another emotional roller-coaster.


Chapter 8: In the Arms of the Sacred


Little Mal's hair was changing color. Three months after his birth, he was developing a reddish tint, a blend between his parents' colors.

Every day that passed was painful. Was Anders alive? If so, was he himself? Her certainty and relief that she had felt upon hearing Leliana's reasoning had faded slightly. In not quite two months, it would be a year since she had last seen him. How had he not managed to escape the Circle in such a long stretch of time, knowing that he had a child? Perhaps he hadn't been made Tranquil—in her cooler-headed moments, Caitlyn was comforted by Leliana's sensible words about that once again—but so many other things could have happened to him. He could have given in to a demon in the Fade and become possessed, in which case the Templars would have put him to death. He certainly would be suffering and tormented, potentially susceptible to them.

Or... was he suffering? When they had first become lovers, she had been so certain that he was sincere in what he told her, that he was no longer interested in meaningless nights with prostitutes or other customers who hired them, or fooling around with other mages of the Circle. Yet he had done those things in his past. Maybe he had reverted back to that and found it satisfying after all. Maybe he was even relieved not to have the responsibility of a family. Maybe, after apparently witnessing her father's death, he was too afraid, too cowardly to return to Lothering and face them. Maybe he hadn't escaped because he hadn't wanted to.

Leliana's apostate contact can surely get the answers, she thought. He can get that list, and I'll know, at least, whether Anders is alive or dead, Tranquil or not, Harrowed or still an apprentice... locked up or escaped again.

She wasn't sure what she would do with that knowledge, and in a way, she dreaded it, but she knew that she had to know. What she did, what she thought of it, would depend on what this mage uncovered.


At last Leliana returned to the Hawke cabin not only to play music, tutor Bethany in playing the lute, or cook Orlesian-style for them—but to bring the long-awaited documents for Caitlyn.

"This contains a list of all living mages of the Fereldan Circle," she explained, handing a sealed scroll to her. "They are marked as Enchanters, apprentices, Tranquil, or... missing. If they are assigned elsewhere, such as a noble house, their location is also noted."

Caitlyn accepted the scroll and broke the seal. Holding her breath, afraid of what she might see—or not see—she unrolled the scroll and read the names.

He's alive, she thought when she saw his. He's alive, and not Tranquil. He's set to be Harrowed at the beginning of Kingsway.

"Good news?" Leliana inquired.

Caitlyn realized that her expression must be betraying it. She nodded. "He is to be Harrowed in Kingsway. I... don't know what to think of that." She gazed out, rolling the scroll back up, her brows furrowing. "I have no doubt that he will pass. But he's not missing, which means he didn't escape again... and since he's set to do that, he seems to have... accepted the Circle." Her voice broke at the end.

"But he may be biding his time," Leliana said. "He may have decided that his best chance of getting out is to become an Enchanter and get an outside assignment. What is his specialty?"

"He's a Healer, and a very good one."

"Then they may wish to assign him to serve a noble. They rarely keep good Healers in the Circle, because the nobility pay well for those skills. I am sure he will write to you if that happens. That may be his plan."

Calmed slightly, she nodded. "I... suppose so. Kingsway, though... that's a long time off." She glanced back at her baby, who was asleep in a large basket. "I just wanted him to see our child while he's still a baby, and if it takes that long, I don't know if he can."

Leliana gave her a sad look. "For what it is worth, I am sorry that this has been done to you—to all of you."

Caitlyn gave her a hug. "Thank you—for everything you have done."


Three months later.

Mal crawled on his chubby arms and legs, smiling at his mother as he reached her. His first trek alone concluded with a laugh and a smile, as if he knew he had accomplished something.

She beamed and picked him up, bumping her nose gently against his and getting another giggle from him at the affectionate act. "You're such a smart boy!" she cooed. Her mother, sister, and brother all smiled to varying degrees, Leandra the most and Carver the least—though she knew that for Carver, it was simply because he was going through a stage of not wanting to appear too "soft." She cuddled him until he squirmed away, eager to crawl again, though her heart broke for the one who was locked up in a tower and had now missed another irreplaceable memory.


The end of Kingsway.

There was no note, no visit, and Caitlyn was anxious and angry again—anxious because the idea she had dismissed, that he might fail his Harrowing, was gnawing at the back of her mind once again, and angry because of the possibility that he might not try to get out of the Circle at all, whether lawfully or by an escape.

Leliana knew who he was by this time. In the early summer, Caitlyn had opened up about that and told the sister his name and some of his history. If Caitlyn wanted her to ask her apostate friend again—Sketch was the name he went by—it could be done more quickly if he had only one mage of whom to uncover information rather than every mage in the Fereldan Circle.

"I don't want him to put his situation at risk with too many inquiries about this," Caitlyn told Leliana when she made that offer again.

"He would not do this if it were risky," Leliana said. "Sketch has had his fill of danger, but he is always happy to help mages."


Mal wobbled to his feet and nervously toddled across the floor to the side of the divan for the first time.

"Oh, look at you!" Caitlyn exclaimed in delight, giving him a hug as he squealed with happy, proud laughter. "Look at you! You walked so well!"

Leandra, Bethany, and Carver glanced up from the kitchen table, smiling. "Barely ten months. He's very precocious. It won't be long before he says his first words," Leandra remarked.

Caitlyn hugged her child close, feeling a hard lump form in the bottom of her throat.


The nights were again cold, and the leaves had faded from their vivid autumnal colors to a bland brown. Dragon 9:28 was rapidly ending, and as First Day approached, Caitlyn found herself thinking of the fact that it would soon be two years since she first met Anders. Two years, she thought. A year and a half since I last saw him. What is the matter? It should be easier now if he became an Enchanter. Why hasn't he come back to me, as he promised? He did promise. Those were the last words he said to me. I thought he meant them. I believed him. Anders, you haven't kept your promise. At last, the hard, cold thought that she had been resisting for so long blasted through her mind with the force of a gale. You have not kept your word to me. She fingered the sapphire ring that she still wore, feeling a sudden surge of bitterness at its presence. Is that why you didn't want to make an official proposal to me, just a promise that you would do it later? Because you weren't sure even then?

Leliana arrived at the Hawke cabin with news. Her face was tense and lined. Caitlyn instantly suspected that the news was not good, and her heart began to pound in anxiety.

"It's probably not what you fear," Leliana assured her at once, seeing her expression. "But... Sketch passed word to me that he's still listed as residing in the tower at Kinloch Hold, despite having passed his Harrowing and becoming an Enchanter."

Caitlyn took Leliana's hand and pulled her into the house, sitting down on the divan beside her. Mal toddled and crawled up, reaching for his mother's knees. She smiled gently at him and lifted him onto the seat beside her.

"I... must confess that this is not the news I expected to hear from Sketch," Leliana continued, avoiding Caitlyn's face. "I have never heard of a Healer being denied the opportunity to serve Ferelden after the Harrowing. Are you... certain that he would not have specialized in anything else? Something that, perhaps, he would need to stay in the Circle tower to research?"

"He could do some elemental magic," she said, "but yes, I'm certain that he would have specialized in healing." She scowled at her lap. "I was just thinking about this, Leliana. He's not coming back because he doesn't want to come back."

"I don't think—"

She took the other woman's hands and gazed sadly at her. "I should have faced it long ago. He escaped many times before he met me. He even made it to Denerim more than once. He has a son out here, Leliana, and yet he hasn't managed it this time. What does that imply? He has remained in the tower because there is something—or, more likely, someone, or perhaps even more than one 'someone'that he finds more compelling."

"You say that because you are angry," Leliana said. "I know it is your nature to find solace in anger, but..."

"I'm saying it because it's the only explanation that fits—unless you have another one?" She stared hard at Leliana. "If he wanted an outside appointment, surely he could get one, could he not?"

Leliana sighed. "I presumed so, but perhaps, if he made the Templars angry enough..."

Caitlyn sighed. "You just keep giving me hope."

Leliana smiled at her, her blue eyes twinkling. "Would you prefer that I did not?"

"I don't know what I want anymore," she said heavily, and the smile faded from Leliana's face at the realization that Caitlyn was serious. "I've appreciated everything you have done. I'm glad you were able to find proof that he wasn't dead or Tranquil. Even if he doesn't want to be with me, I'm glad that he is alive and well. But I just feel now that the hopes you're giving me are false ones and I would be better off accepting..." She trailed off. "It's unhealthy for me to obsess over him for this long."

"You were in love with him," Leliana said gently.

"Love doesn't always last," she replied, her words cold, harsh, and bitter. "He has been gone for a year and a half. He's in that tower, apparently safe, but we can't devise any reason why he wouldn't leave if he wanted—so what's the logical explanation? That's not what he wants." She sighed heavily once again. "You were a bard. You must know better than anyone that people are fickle, their emotions easily changeable, their promises often worthless." She twisted the ring on her finger, glowering into space.

She was not sure why she was doing this, saying these bitter, spiteful words. A part of her felt guilty for it, as if each and every one of them was a dagger stab into him even though he could not hear her. That part of her mind whispered that if she ever did see him again, these words would make it harder for her to take him back. Even if he never knew that she had said them, she would know, and her guilt would be a wall between them. But the rest of her mind, the angry part, liked hearing them—liked thinking of what Anders' face would look like if he heard her say them, liked the image of him crumpling in pain as vengeance for the pain that his absence had inflicted on her for so long. She was sick of hurting. Someone else should hurt now, and who better than the one whose absence had caused it all? It was arguably his fault that her father was gone, too.

Leliana rose from her seat. "You are speaking in anger and spite," she said. Her words and tone were compassionate, but it was clear that the discussion was at an end. "I understand why, but I cannot join you in this. I will leave you for the night. Please think on what I have said, though."

"What in particular?" Caitlyn asked, the anger fading from her words at the question. "Leliana, you can't expect me to hold onto something with such uncertainty. I know that you believe deeply in the love of the Maker, and that this influences you to be a kind person yourself, but... even if that is true, it doesn't follow that the love of people will be."

"You are saying this as a defense," Leliana said quietly, not meeting Caitlyn's eyes. "You desperately need an ending, and so you are devising one yourself at last. It is easier for you to let him go if you can convince yourself that he does not care anymore."

"It is," she agreed, "but that doesn't mean I'm wrong." She gazed at Leliana as the latter headed for the Hawkes' door. "Leliana, I'll make you a promise. If your friend Sketch can find out any information about why Anders is inside that tower, and it proves me wrong, I'll admit that I was wrong. But right now, neither of us has an alternate explanation for why he isn't here."


"Mm," mumbled Mal, staring in deep concentration at his mother's face.

She held her breath. Was this what it seemed like it might be? That little baby face was contorted into an adorable scowl of deep thought. Mal was very intelligent; of that she was sure, and even though he had not quite reached his first birthday, he still might just be working out how to—

"Ma. Ma-ma."

She beamed. "That's right, love! I am your mamma. And you are Mal."


Leliana was finally defeated when she next brought an update to the Hawke cabin. "I am sorry," she said. Her eyes were hollow. "He is still on record as being in Kinloch Hold, and my source cannot get any information about the reasons for this."

Caitlyn exhaled. "It's all right. Thank you, Leliana. I... won't ask you to do this again. He has made his decision, I think—and the Mages' Collective has better things to do."

Leliana did not want to agree with Caitlyn; she still thought it was possible that there was another explanation. However, there were only two possibilities: Either Caitlyn was right, and he was inside the Circle because that was where he wanted to be; or he could not get out—either by escaping or appointment—because he was under extremely close supervision or full lockdown, even as an Enchanter. Leliana still thought that Anders might have angered the Templars so greatly, especially if he had attempted to escape during the past year and a half, that they were not affording him the same privileges that they would other Harrowed Healers. But Caitlyn did not want to think that, and Leliana understood. Her friend was tired of waiting, tired of uncertainty, tired—in a way—of hope itself. At this point, it was actually easier for Caitlyn to think that Anders was choosing to stay than to continue to hold onto the hope that so far had failed her over and over. It is odd to me that she would take greater comfort in despair, but if she does, it would be cruel of me to insist that she hold onto a feeling that has given her nothing but pain and disappointment, Leliana thought. If he does make it out someday, she will be overjoyed then. For now, perhaps she is right and it is best for her to stop hoping.

"Excuse me for a moment," Caitlyn said, getting up suddenly and going to the bedroom that she shared with Bethany. Leliana waited in the common room of the cabin, strumming her lute, letting her have whatever private moment she needed.

Alone in the bedroom, Caitlyn pulled off the ring and stared at it. She had certainly taken it off before, many times; silver tarnished and she had needed to clean it. But this was different. She gazed at the object, scowling—and then shoved it roughly and aggressively to the bottom of her box of small personal effects. I'm done with it, she thought in hostile anger. If he comes back, he can explain himself first before I put that thing on my finger again.

The hair ornament that Anders had made for her caught her attention. Irritated, she shoved it to the bottom of the box too, next to the ring—and suddenly a flood of memories washed through her thoughts: Anders stroking her hair, braiding it, pinning the ornament into it, his fingers tangling in it as he ran them through her long locks... She glanced across the tiny room at Bethany's sewing box. There would be a pair of shears there. She rummaged through it until she found them.

Why am I doing this? she asked herself as she held the first hank of hair between them before the small oval mirror. If I believe my own conclusion, he won't see my hair again. He won't get to be shocked and upset that I did this... but even if he could, why should I cut my hair to make him angry? It's my hair. He shouldn't have that kind of power over me... but—she realized—that's not the point at all. She gazed at her reflection. I didn't take the ring off to spite him either. I did it because it was painful to look at it. It's painful, for now, to see my hair this length. It brings back memories that hurt to think of.

She slashed through the lock of hair. Long strands of vermilion hair fell to the floor, leaving a short lock that hung just to the bottom of her earlobe.

She cut and cut, trying to make it look decent and even. When at last it was satisfactory to her, she bent down to gather up the severed locks and toss them into a bucket to be discarded, or used for mattress stuffing later. At that moment, Bethany entered the room, apparently concerned at her sister's prolonged absence.

"Oh, Cait," Bethany said unhappily as soon as she saw what her sister had done, "why did you do that? It's your hair. He doesn't—"

She tossed the last lock into the bucket. "I know. I wouldn't cut it to spite him. I'm not even angry at him... mostly," she said sheepishly as Bethany gave her a deeply skeptical and disbelieving look. "But every time I look at my reflection, or see it, or a breeze makes it flutter... it brings those times to mind."

"And you want to forget?" Her voice was quiet and soft.

"I... no, I don't want to forget, but I don't want to be reminded all the time either. I just... want something different. Something new, something not associated with memories like that."

Bethany sighed. "Well, it's done—and you did a neat job." She offered her sister a somewhat forced smile. "It's a different look, certainly, but it suits you as well as the long hair did. Are you ready to return to the common room now?"

She nodded.

Carver raised his eyebrows in momentary surprise at his sister's new look, but he said nothing. Leandra and Leliana were not so silent.

"Oh, darling," exclaimed Leandra, her face falling.

Leliana was much more diplomatic and courteous. "It's very cute and roguish!" she exclaimed, even though she thought that long hair had better suited her. "A new look is sometimes exactly what one needs, no?"

Caitlyn took her seat on the divan and pulled Mal into her lap. He gazed in interest at his mother's new haircut, obviously aware that this was Mamma, but that she looked different now.

For her part, Caitlyn felt slightly more lighthearted than before. Truth be told, she did not love the haircut she had given herself, and it felt strange for her neck to be bare. But she would get used to it, and anyway, Leliana was right. As the former bard began a song, she found herself feeling strangely warm and close to her. Leliana had been a great friend to her, after all.


She was not sure what drove her to do it, but the next day, she left Mal in the care of her family and went into town to go to the Chantry. It was not to pray or otherwise express religious devotion, but to see Leliana—and after a brief audience with a priest, she was directed to Leliana's room in the back.

A smile formed on her face as she began to hear the sounds of music. I could have found her by myself, she thought, except I still would have needed permission to come back here. She almost hated interrupting Leliana, but... surely she would be happy to see her friend. Caitlyn waited outside Leliana's door until the music ceased and then knocked gently.

"Oh!" Leliana exclaimed when she opened the door. "I am surprised to see you here!"

"I hope my visit is not unwelcome, though."

"Of course not! Please come in." Leliana pulled Caitlyn into the room and closed the door.

Caitlyn glanced around the room. Musical instruments rested on the simple furniture, and although Leliana wore Chantry robes, Caitlyn felt a smile come to her face as she noticed some fine jewelry that an initiate who had taken vows of chastity and poverty certainly would not be permitted to wear.

"So," Leliana said, a smile forming on her face as though she already had a guess, "what has brought you here today?"

"You don't know? After a year, you don't know?" She smirked. "How were you ever a bard?"

"I do not want to be presumptuous." Her face suddenly became very serious. "And I do not want you to do anything that you will regret."

Caitlyn glowered. She held out her left hand. "Notice anything different? I'm not going to live in the past any longer."

Leliana had noticed the absence of the sapphire ring almost as soon as Caitlyn had emerged from her bedroom at the Hawke house the night before, only just after she had noticed the short haircut, but she was still unsure if Caitlyn had merely acted out of anger and spite. She did not want their friendship to be spoiled—and there was something else, too. Although she had not taken a vow of chastity, Leliana was still no longer interested in anything like the casual sexual behavior that she had engaged in as a bard. She did not think Caitlyn intended that, exactly, but neither did she want to be used to slake someone's anger at another person.

Leliana took Caitlyn's hand compassionately. "I care for you," she said, her tone sincere. "I don't want you to suffer additional pain. Please, think about this before you take it any farther. Be sure that it is what you want, and that you want it for the right reasons."

Caitlyn swallowed. Leliana meant what she was saying. She really was concerned about the repercussions of a mistake hurting her, and that actually warmed her heart and furthered her resolve. "I won't rush," she said softly. "I rushed with him, and look where that got me."

Leliana raised an eyebrow. "You regret it?"

"I... don't know," Caitlyn said. "I am glad that Mal was born. If Anders returned..." She swallowed hard. "It doesn't matter. He won't." She leaned in. "I just... care about you. I never thought, after everything that happened, that I could care about someone in the Chantry." She reached boldly for Leliana's face, caressing her cheek with a sad smile on her face. "I will never have the natural faith that you do, probably. I'm just... more instinctively negative and pessimistic. I definitely don't have faith in most people, and I don't understand why, if the Maker really cares about us, He would allow us to hurt each other the way we do, especially in His name, without any justice for it."

"I don't have the answer to that," Leliana admitted. "Perhaps it just has not happened yet. If the Maker lets some people use their choices for ill, he must intend others to do good to counter it."

"Perhaps," Caitlyn conceded. "In which case, that is the duty of people like us. But you have shown me a different side of faith than the side that most priests and Templars exhibit."

"I know how most of them are," Leliana said quietly, "and it grieves me."

"The faith they have is like the faith of the Old Gods of Tevinter, I think! Sacrifices that they choose, and obsession with political power."

Leliana chuckled along with Caitlyn. "That is an interesting but accurate way to put it."

"You are different from them."

They regarded each other, inches away from each other's face, for a moment before Caitlyn drew in to kiss her. The scent of Andraste's Grace filled her nostrils. Leliana must like those flowers, Caitlyn thought.

She had only kissed one other woman—or girl—and just as Anders had been much more confident and assertive than the Lothering boys she had kissed before, so was Leliana more confident than that village girl. Caitlyn brushed the thought out of her head that it was because of her years as a bard. That didn't matter; it was in the past, and Leliana had said herself that she had not wanted to rush anything between them. Besides, Caitlyn thought, it did not intimidate her. She would have been nervous and insecure before her relationship with Anders, but not now. She might not have anything close to the experience of a former bard, but her one previous partner had still shown her very effectively how to express affection and love. She deepened the kiss—and then thought of something else she could do, something else that her other relationship had given her the courage to do.

Summoning just enough heat to her fingertips to startle Leliana, Caitlyn brought her right hand gently to the back of the other woman's neck. Leliana exclaimed in surprise, drawing away, her blue eyes wide and gleaming.

"Has a mage ever done anything like that to you before?" she said, a smirk on her face.

Leliana raised an eyebrow in amusement. "Would you not love to know?"

"I would, actually. I've heard—my father told me—that Orlesian nobles often had mages in their households."

"It is true," Leliana said, "and—if you must know—I have experienced, not heat, but... frost."

"And which do you prefer?"

"Hmm." She pretended to consider the question at length before finally giving Caitlyn a grin. "It is a tough choice, but—the warmth of sincerity is better than coldness of the Game, no?"

"Good." She raised her open palm almost threateningly, summoning actual tiny flames that quickly flickered out, leaving warmth emanating from each of her finger pads. The other woman closed her eyes and smiled in anticipation.


A month later.

There was something very tawdry about tumbling into Leliana's bed in her quarters at the Chantry—and yet, simultaneously, it was almost an act of sanctification. When Caitlyn remarked on that to Leliana, it provoked a laugh.

"I have broken no vows," Leliana said, smiling, her cheeks pink. "The Maker smiles upon love that is pure and innocent."

Caitlyn laughed and draped herself over the other woman's nude body, enjoying the easy, relaxing comfort of the familiar shape, even down to a similarity in hair color—though Caitlyn's was a darker orange. "You call this innocent?" She teased Leliana with a magically heated hand, tracing a path on the sensitive spot where her left thigh joined her hip.

The former bard shuddered at the touch. "Yes," she managed to say. "I do. What is more innocent than the touch of a lover? There are many ways to pervert the gifts of the Maker, but this is not one of them."

I suppose a former bard would see it this way, Caitlyn realized as she pressed a kiss against Leliana's neck. And... maybe she has the right of it. All she knew for now was that it was lovely to feel needed and loved once again. Perhaps it would be safer, less risky, less likely to result in heartbreak and loss, to love another woman—and a woman who was not a mage.


Satinalia 9:29.

Leliana smiled at the gift of satin slippers that Caitlyn had given to her. "Thank you," she said softly, setting them aside.

Caitlyn sensed something amiss. "What's the matter?" she said. She reached across the bed. "Is everything all right? I thought... they're Orlesian shoes..."

"The gift was lovely," Leliana reassured her. She caressed her cheek. "You should go home, though. Mal needs you, and your family must be missing you."

"Leliana," Caitlyn protested, "what's wrong? If you don't want to share my bed at home, you don't have to. I understand if you're uncomfortable, since I share a room with Bethany and Mal. But you don't even visit as much anymore. Is everything all right? Are you having doubts about—this?" Something occurred to her. "Do you mean to become affirmed?"

Leliana shook her head immediately. "Oh, no—it is not that." She smiled gently. "It is nothing for you to worry about."

"I don't think that's quite true, though."

Leliana did not want to spoil the holiday with what she knew would be an unpleasant discussion. She turned to her with another smile and said, reassuringly, "This holiday is sometimes a challenge for me. It is meant to be a day of happiness and lightheartedness, but for me... well, you must have guessed that I have some pain in my past, no? The bard under whom I trained..."

"Was she special to you?" Caitlyn guessed.

"She was, and we shared several Feastdays together... but she was false." Leliana sighed. "Her treachery is what brought me to Ferelden."

Caitlyn took her hand. "I'm sorry. I understand about people who are false, who lie and say things they don't mean."

Leliana knew instantly of whom she was speaking. Her inner sense of justice objected to Caitlyn's characterization of her previous lover, but she also understood that she was speaking in anger again. But the fact that Caitlyn felt the need to say this at all, to have such an outburst, rather than simply expressing sympathy for Leliana's own betrayal, confirmed to her what she had suspected.

If she truly believes that now, then it is a defense for her own heart, Leliana thought as Caitlyn rose from the bed to gather up her clothes. It is still easier for her to foment an unjust grudge than to accept that she misses him. I can never be more to her unless she can let him go.

Leliana was not sure she even wanted that to happen. She hated the thought of losing the one lover she'd had who had been sincere, but she also could not wait forever for something that might not happen—something that, it seemed, could only happen if the mage Anders died, or if he finally met Caitlyn again and she could look him in the eye and tell him to leave. Leliana doubted the latter would happen, and she would not ever wish for the death of an innocent for the sake of her own happiness.


Dragon 9:30.

"Who?" Mal asked, pointing at the confident, roguish, rather appealing brunette woman and her two companions as they gathered supplies and attempted to assist some of the Blight refugees in Lothering.

"They are the Grey Wardens, Mal," Caitlyn said. "The woman with the two blades on her back must be Lady Elissa Cousland. The man is apparently called Alistair. I don't know who the Chasind mage is." Mal had not yet figured out exactly how to form grammatical sentences, and he was smart enough to know it, so he simply truncated them rather than saying something that he knew was not right. Caitlyn found it endearing, because she knew that when he did start asking full questions, they would be perfectly structured and enunciated, adult speech, more or less—and another bit of his early childhood gone. She knew that it was inevitable—she wanted him to grow up, of course—but at the same time, there was a part of her that grew sad at the realization that it was happening.

"What is a Grey Warden?"

There was a perfect sentence, she thought with a pang. Mal could ask questions that required singular forms; he just had not yet figured out plurals. "They fight the Blight," she explained. "They're going to kill the creatures that are threatening Lothering." She sighed. "But we still cannot stay here." The Blight, that Father heard the Wardens predicting three years ago. How different it might have been if he had survived. I guess Warden-Commander Duncan is dead now. That's the rumor around town, that all of the Wardens in Ferelden were slain except these. Which of them is in charge? Warden Cousland acts like she is...

She glanced in the direction of the Chantry, frowning. Leliana had been spending a lot of time in there lately. She had claimed to have a "vision from the Maker," of which Caitlyn did not know what to think. She had not wanted to believe that Leliana would fabricate a lie in order to avoid her, especially a lie about her faith, but Leliana had been increasingly distant with her even before this "vision" happened. And whatever the vision had consisted of—other than the little bit Leliana had told her, that it was a dream of the Blight—Leliana did not want to talk about it with Caitlyn. It worried her. Mother is determined that we will go to Kirkwall, she thought, and... I guess we should, if our uncle really will take us in to the Amell manor. I am not entirely convinced that Leliana wants to go, though, and if this vision is real—or she thinks it is real—I think that is part of the reason. It frightened her, though she could not say why. And there was something else, a reason that Caitlyn refused to articulate to herself, about why she was reluctant to leave Ferelden for Kirkwall.

He won't be in Kirkwall, her mind whispered despite her resolve. Leaving Ferelden means leaving him permanently.

"Mal," she said, banishing that, "would you stay with Aunt Bethany for now? I need to see Leliana."

Mal nodded and instantly attached himself to Bethany as she gathered a small stock of elfroot. Steeling herself for what she feared was to come, Caitlyn headed into the Chantry.


Her fears were fully realized when she saw that Leliana had packed up all the personal belongings in her quarters. "You're leaving," she said.

"We must all leave," Leliana replied, not looking at Caitlyn. "You should go with your family—your mother is taking you to Kirkwall, yes? To be with your uncle?"

"That's what she hopes. Leliana, is the Chantry sending you somewhere?"

"I am not sworn to the Chantry," she said. "I can go where I wish."

"Then..."

"Caitlyn." Her words were tired and sad.

Caitlyn's heart thumped. "Leliana, please, you're scaring me. What is going on? Aren't you coming with us?"

"No," Leliana admitted. "I am not."

"But... you would be welcome," she said, her words suddenly feeble. "Does this have something to do with your vision?"

Leliana remained turned aside. "It does, but there is more."

"Are you... breaking up with me?"

"I... do not regret what we have had," Leliana said, her words clearly extremely pained, "and I will always value you as a friend. But it is clear to me that I have never had your heart." She finally met Caitlyn's eyes. "You still love him."

Caitlyn tensed, feeling sudden anger surge inside her. "Don't accuse me of that."

"Saying you love someone is hardly an accusation," she chastised gently.

"It was a mistake," Caitlyn replied, angry, venomous words tripping off her tongue before she could stop them, a pyroclastic flow of rage suddenly erupting from a long-simmering volcano. "We'd have been better off if I'd never met him. Actually, Father and I should have let the Blight wolves take him the very first night—or the blizzard." A sharp pang of guilt hit her as soon as she said it, but this was quickly overcome by angry pride and a determination to show Leliana that he had no hold over her. He wasn't here to hear her words, anyway, so what did it matter what nasty thing she said?

Leliana scowled with an expression on her face that Caitlyn had never before seen: an expression of contempt. "You are better than this, Caitlyn. I do understand how you feel, I think—"

"No you don't."

"Yes," she said coolly, "I do. I actually was betrayed by a person I loved, so I understand heartbreak quite well. And I also believe that you said that vicious thing about him to try to convince me that you do not care about him, that your heart belongs to me, so that I will go to Kirkwall with your family—but Caitlyn, it was not meant to be. I realize that now. I am glad that I could be there for you, and I will always consider you a friend, but..."

The heated rage suddenly vanished, leaving Caitlyn feeling small and vulnerable. "But it's over?" she whispered. "Because you think I never stopped loving someone else?"

"I know you did not stop, and you never had a reason to. He gave you his mother's ring and left you with a promise. He didn't leave you; he was taken from you. I understand why you cannot let go of him. But it is unfair to me."

Caitlyn reached for Leliana desperately, suddenly aware of what was happening. "Leliana, no! It's not true! It's been three years. He's never coming back."

"To Lothering? Probably not," she agreed. "I hope not—because you and your family must leave as soon as you can. But that does not mean you will not see him again. I know you want to. And I also know that, although you tell yourself that he would have returned if he wanted, you do not entirely believe that, do you?"

She shook her head silently in denial of the entire line of questioning. "Don't do this," she pleaded. "Don't... make me hurt again."

"I do not want to hurt you," Leliana said gently. "I am sorry that this causes you pain—but the wound never healed. You have simply bandaged it with this belief of which you have tried to convince yourself, this idea that he has stayed because he wanted to." She sighed deeply and tilted Caitlyn's head up, gazing into her wounded green eyes that were brimming with tears despite Caitlyn's previous assertions—obviously false—that she wished Anders dead. "You know as well as I that he might be locked in that tower, watched far too closely for him to stand a chance of escape, due to his... record."

She continued to shake her head. "Don't," she pleaded feebly. Why was Leliana doing this? Their relationship had been a soothing balm for so long; if it had to end because of the Hawkes' planned departure for Kirkwall or the "vision" Leliana believed she had, that was bad enough. Why was Leliana ripping the wound open again, as she put it?

"It has to be said," Leliana said. "Perhaps you are right, but you do not know that you are. You have avoided this possibility for a long time."

"Why do you want me to think that?" she exclaimed. "If you're right, he's suffered far more than I have. Why do I need to think of that? It doesn't help anything. If he is locked up, there's nothing we can do about it." She tried to calm herself before addressing Leliana again. "You know—you are right. I obviously never stopped loving him, and it is because he never gave me a reason to." The tears came to her eyes again despite herself. "He was sweet, and considerate, and I could tell that he meant to come back. He wanted to be part of my family, truly." She suppressed a sob at the flood of memories that she had buried for so long. "I don't want to think of him suffering, locked up somewhere in that tower. I'd rather think he changed his mind and is staying by choice. A lot can happen in three years."

"I understand that," Leliana said again, "but you don't believe it, do you? Do you truly think he would knowingly abandon his child after making promises and being sweet and tender to you?"

Caitlyn gazed miserably at her. "Why are you doing this to me?" she said defeatedly. "If you want to end it between us, then just do that. Is this revenge for having to 'share' my heart for so long? I didn't mean to do that to you. I tried to move on—I really did. That was the point of trying to believe—as you said. Whatever else you may think of me, please don't think that I was just using you."

Leliana gave her a sweet but entirely chaste hug. "I know. I'm sorry for hurting you, and it certainly is not 'revenge.' I do have a reason for saying this." She steeled herself for what was to come. "I have made a decision. I am going to leave with the Grey Wardens to fight the Blight."

Whatever Caitlyn had expected, it was not that. "What?" she exclaimed. "But you could die!"

Leliana took a deep breath, steadying herself, her resolution on this path hardening. "My vision already told me that I should go with them, but I was unsure; I questioned what I believed the Maker showed me, because I did not know what was the right thing to do by you. This talk has made it clear to me that it is the correct path."

"Leliana!"

Leliana turned back to Caitlyn. "I'm sorry. This path has been laid out before me, and I must take it. But there is one thing I can do for you, I think. The Wardens are going to the Circle. I have spoken with Warden Cousland in Dane's Refuge, and she tells me that the mages are traditional allies of the Wardens in Blights. You must not tarry in Lothering too long, but I will urge them to visit the Circle before trying to recruit other allies, so you should have enough time for me to send word. I will tell them that they should release Anders to you if he is there. I promise you this. If he is there and still loves you, I will get him out." She hesitated. She was not sure how she would do that, but she did have bardic training, and if necessary, she could urge the Wardens to conscript him. "And if he has... gone to the Maker since Sketch last sent me information about him... or does not wish to be reunited with you… I will send word of that to you too."

Caitlyn wiped her eyes and scowled. "If it's the latter, make him fight the darkspawn."

Leliana managed a sad laugh. "I certainly will."


"We should leave," Carver urged.

Caitlyn held Mal and stared out resolutely. "I haven't heard from Leliana yet. She promised me she would send a message about what she discovered at the Circle."

"We are running out of time," he insisted. "The darkspawn are moving. You weren't at Ostagar. It's bad. We have to get out. There is practically no other family left."

"Leliana's messenger won't come to Lothering if it is considered abandoned or overrun," Bethany pointed out, "and once we get to Kirkwall, you can surely contact her again. She'll be with the Wardens' party. They have a compound in Denerim, after all; Father went there. It would be no trouble. I wouldn't worry about Teyrn... Regent Loghain. I'm sure that will all get sorted out and they can set up in Denerim again."

Caitlyn closed her eyes. She had a horrible feeling that it would not be quite that simple. She could not explain why she felt that way; perhaps it was just her own pessimism that had been nourished over the past three and a half years, but she strongly felt that she should wait to hear from Leliana before leaving. However... they had a point in that the darkspawn were quickly approaching. "I know. Just... one more day."


There was no message. The Hawkes had to leave, and they had to leave today. The reports from the Ostagar survivors running north were just as dire as Carver's.

Caitlyn slumped over her vanity. I guess there will be a better one in the Amell manor in Kirkwall, she thought with a strangely painful lump in her throat. The furniture in this room had been hers for years. It was sad to leave it behind for the darkspawn.

Maybe it will be all right, she thought. Maybe after the Blight, the town will be resettled, and some other young woman will have this room.

She realized that she didn't believe that.

Mal tugged at her sleeve. "Mamma? Are we going?"

She glanced down at him. "Yes, sweetheart, of course. I'm just... saying goodbye to our room." She glanced at the small bed that Carver had built for Mal, which slid so readily under the lower bunk—Caitlyn's bunk after his birth, as she had switched with Bethany for the sake of convenience.

The items that she could take were packed up, but there was one last matter. She returned to the vanity and gazed upon the two items Anders had given her: his mother's ring and the hairpin.

Won't I regret it if I leave them behind? Leliana said that I was acting on anger and spite. Isn't this also angry and spiteful?

But if I don't, I will brood over them in Kirkwall for the rest of my life, she thought. I am leaving Ferelden, starting a new life. How strange that my childhood dream of living in the Amell mansion will come true and my idea of having a happy, peaceful family with—him—won't. This is going to be my life now, so I shouldn't take them. Let the Blight take them.

She turned away from the vanity and left her room for the last time, holding her son's hand.


"You're apostates!" exclaimed Ser Wesley Vallen, a Templar they had met on the road with his wife Aveline.

Caitlyn and Bethany tensed, and Mal cowered in utter terror behind his mother. If you dare try to use Templar skills against us while we are all fighting darkspawn, I swear before the Maker I will cut you down where you stand, she swore silently to herself, clutching her staff—but fortunately, she talked him down—somehow. After the encounter, even she could not quite believe she had managed it.

They had waited too late, she realized with dismay as they fought through what seemed to be an unending stream of darkspawn. It was made even more difficult by Mal's presence. He had to be protected, and at last Caitlyn simply cast a protective arcane shield around herself and him and forbade him to leave it. He was too terrified of the slavering monsters to dream of disobeying.

It's not my fault, she told herself repeatedly. It's not. Leliana promised me she would write back with whatever she found at the Circle. I suppose I should have known better. She was a bard, after all. It was probably just a bard's lie to get me to leave and stop begging her to stay with me. This is not my fault. I expected a message from her, and she never sent one. I should have known, I should have seen it coming, after Anders' broken promise. People lie. They lie and make false promises—and then others suffer for it.

A new group of darkspawn jumped into the path.

This wouldn't be so difficult anyway if Father and Anders were here, she thought angrily as she sent a fireball into the maw of a gibbering hurlock. Two more mages would be very helpful, and it's his fault that we don't have either of them. Damn him. Curse him to the Void, and curse Leliana too. Why couldn't she have come with us? She could wield a bow and blades. Damn her "vision." She just wanted to get away from me and probably chase after Elissa Cousland.

Caitlyn was gnawing on this trail of wretched thought when the ogre struck.

They attacked as a group, but the creature was too fierce and too big. Mal screamed in terror, cowering behind his mother, trembling on the ground—but unfortunately that only captured the monster's attention. The ogre hefted its weapon, grinning in evil triumph, and Caitlyn braced herself, raising her staff, grimacing and suddenly trying not to cry.

This is it, then! My final act will be to fail as a mother, she thought bleakly. I'm so sorry, Mal. I love you. You deserved better. You deserved better parents—both of them—especially me. Maker, you'd be better off with your father now. This thought, horrible and yet bizarrely amusing in a dark way, crossed through her mind in a flash—but it didn't matter. They were here. She readied a spell to attempt to defend her son.

A screaming feminine war cry tore through the air as Bethany charged the ogre, spells bursting from her staff and her free hand. The sudden appearance of a new target distracted the ogre from its attack on Caitlyn and Mal.

It happened very quickly. The ogre grabbed Bethany, throttled her, and slammed her into the ground repeatedly, cracking her skull and leaving her for dead.

"No!" Leandra screamed in anguish. "Not my baby girl!"

Every one of them, except the little boy, charged the ogre in grief and fury. Caitlyn could not look at her sister's broken body. All she could think of was rage—finally, at last, her rage was useful, but at a terrible, terrible price.

When the ogre finally lay dead from the onslaught of their furious attacks, they turned back to Bethany. Miraculously, she was still breathing—but it was all too clear that she would not last much longer.

And we don't have a Healer, Caitlyn thought, feeling a spark of fury yet again, though she hated herself for it. Couldn't the anger stay away for a bloody second?

She was silent as the Templar, Ser Wesley, gave her little sister last rites. Tears formed in her eyes and instantly flooded her cheeks. This was so wrong, so unfair—why her? Bethany was so talented, so creative, so sparkling—why?

What am I going to do without you? she thought, feeling a surge of misery as her sister breathed out for the last time.

Her mother's grief-stricken words of blame hurt, all the more so because she could not even dispute them anymore. If they had left earlier, perhaps this wouldn't have happened, and it was her fault that they had not. If she had not trusted the promises of a bard, or had not let her father take the self-inflicted problems of a runaway onto himself, none of this might have happened. They might have been safe and together as a family.

Carver tapped her shoulder. "There are more of them."

Caitlyn rose to her feet unsteadily. "Of bloody course there are. Curse the Archdemon to the ends of the Void. Curse it to the end of time." She pulled Mal close, cast her arcane shield again, and looked back miserably at her sister's body. They would at least have the ashes of her father with them in Kirkwall. Of Bethany, her poor brave little sister, they would have nothing now except the belongings she had stowed in the common pack.

I'm so sorry, Caitlyn told her sister, hoping that somehow she could hear her beyond the Fade. I won't let your sacrifice be in vain.


Ser Wesley had not long outlived his own benediction for the fallen mage. Aveline, to the Hawkes' awe, deep respect, and great sadness, had ended his suffering from the Blight sickness.

The form of Flemeth—supposedly, though Caitlyn hardly cared at this point whether the thing was telling the truth or not—stood before them, having extorted a promise from Caitlyn and Carver to do a favor for her once they arrived safely in the Free Marches. Caitlyn found it despicable—if Flemeth, or whoever the witch was, really thought they were worth saving, why attach strings? And why didn't she save Bethany and Ser Wesley? her thoughts screamed. Obviously she was here all along. That fact alone made her almost not want to agree, to simply defy Flemeth and take the consequences—but she knew she didn't have the right to choose death for everyone else.

Mal was utterly traumatized by the darkspawn, his poor aunt's violent end, and the dragon form of Flemeth. He was cowering behind Caitlyn, burying his face in her robes. Hearing her little child cry and sob, feeling him shake and tremble, only reinforced to her grief-stunned mind her own failure at the one thing she should not fail at, being a mother. What right do I even have to survive? she thought—but even if she didn't, everyone else in the party did. If Flemeth was to be the source of their salvation, so be it.


They mostly avoided her on the ship. Leandra and Carver had always been close, and Caitlyn knew what they were not saying: This is your fault. And they're right, she thought again. It is my fault.

And theirs. Anders could have healed Bethany, surely. Father might even have been able to defend us all against those things. And if Leliana had come along, perhaps she could have helped too—but at a minimum, I shouldn't have believed her. The Wardens probably aren't going to the Circle at all. It was probably all a lie.

Mal whimpered. "Are the darkspawn coming back?"

"No," she whispered. "They're not." She clutched her shocked, traumatized child close, attempting to soothe his anguish.

He curled against her. "I miss Aunt Bethany."

She burst out a sob that quickly turned into a flood. "We all do," she managed to choke out as she held him close. At the sight of his mother's tears, Mal began to cry too.

Never again, she vowed as the ship entered the open sea and turned north. My family members die when I love and trust people. Never, ever again.


Notes: I'm aware that Hawke's angry, hostile behavior and thoughts are extremely unsympathetic. This is how she copes with loss, and it's not a great way. She will eventually get better and stop harboring so much anger, but it may take a while.