Notes: I realized while writing chapter 27 that it was a great opportunity to formally introduce Sebastian and Meredith, as well as to showcase what Elthina is like in this AU, so here you go.

Song inspiration is "The Prayer Position" by AFI, with a very slight adaptation.


Chapter 28: Tremble To Think That the Maker Is Just


Merrill did not want to go to the Chantry, and Caitlyn did not blame her. They parted at the surface, Caitlyn urging Merrill to stay in the Hawke house until she came back from her errand.

Caitlyn was almost turned away immediately by a sister of the faith. "The Grand Cleric is in a private meeting with His Highness the Prince of Starkhaven," the sister explained. "I am taking messages from citizens to pass to her for when she is finished."

Caitlyn wondered momentarily what a foreign prince was doing in Kirkwall, consulting with Kirkwall's Grand Cleric in private meetings with nobody else present. Did Viscount Dumar know about this? He had the Grand Cleric's ear as well and might tell her state secrets or, even more likely given that she was a priest, personal confessions about himself and his family that could be used against him by an enemy or a rival. Starkhaven was an ally, to the extent that any of the Marcher cities were allied—which was to say, conditionally and clouded with suspicion as rivals—but it still seemed extremely improper for the two people to be conferring together without a representative from the Viscount's office present. She craned her head; unless she was badly mistaken, Meredith Stannard was lurking in the back.

Caitlyn instantly decided to pursue her planned course. "Actually," she said to the sister, "I am here to see another priest, Mother Petrice. Is she available?"

Petrice was in her personal quarters, purportedly studying religious texts, but the documents that she had on her desk when Caitlyn was admitted into the room did not appear to be anything but letters. When Caitlyn explained to her what she would like done, Petrice shook her head and sighed.

"I have my doubts that she will consent to this," the priest said. "I think you would be better off staying low and pursuing your own plan with yourself and the elf woman without raising suspicions."

"You may be right," she admitted, "but Anders wants to try this first, and it is his clinic."

"You could tell him you asked and were rebuffed."

"I do not want to lie to him," Caitlyn said, her tone sharper. "Lately we have had a bit of marital trouble and I don't want to do that. It's not right."

"Marital trouble? Do you need to confess anything?"

It was all Caitlyn could do to keep her head from spinning at the juxtaposition of this priest advising her to lie to her husband one moment, and in the next, implying that she might have a sin against her marriage to confess. Petrice's situational morality was going to be a challenge for her to deal with in the future, she feared. But for now, she just forbore from rolling her eyes and heaving a sigh of exasperation. "No, Mother Petrice. The trouble was just a heated argument, nothing worse than that, and we talked it out. My point is, he wants to try getting Circle Healers first. I will make the request to Elthina myself; I'm just asking you to stand with me and back me up if she asks you."

Petrice rose to her feet, picking up her papers and locking them in a drawer. She pocketed the key. "Very well. I will go with you. Is she still with the Prince of Starkhaven?"

"Apparently she is. If you know, and you're allowed to say, what is that about?"

She checked the door to make certain it was closed and peered through the keyhole to be sure no one was listening. "They have a history. The Prince was wild and sinful as a young man, and his royal family sent him to the Chantry to repent and become a brother of the faith. She was his mentor. He has been coming frequently to ask her for advice about what course to pursue concerning the slaughter of his family—whether to pursue vengeance against their killers and take the throne of Starkhaven, or remain in the Chantry."

"If they know each other, I suppose that must be his reason, but that seems mightily... well, selfish and entitled, if I may say so," she said. "The Grand Cleric serves Kirkwall, yet she is locked in her office with a foreign leader for hours about a personal problem of his, inaccessible to her people."

Petrice did not reply to that, but her mouth curled into a faint smirk at Caitlyn's sharp condemnation of the high priest.

Caitlyn was prepared to knock heavily on the Grand Cleric's door when they reached her office, but Elthina opened the door for Prince Sebastian first. Caitlyn could not help but gawk at the man, and not in a complimentary way. He wore white enameled armor, which seemed manifestly ridiculous—how did he keep it clean? Was it just parade armor? It didn't look like it—and a heavy bow and quiver were strapped to his back, a violation of the rule that one was not supposed to bring weapons into a house of the Maker. I suppose if you are a prince and a brother, you can have the rules bent, she thought bitterly. As Caitlyn quickly examined him, she noticed that a sculpt of the head of Andraste was... well, very unfortunately placed. Had no one ever told him? Caitlyn almost burst out laughing at the thought of what Anders would say if he ever saw it. He certainly would not hold back.

The Prince was still profusely thanking the Grand Cleric even as she was ushering him out the door. "Thank you, Your Grace, you are the most holy, the wisest mentor that a sinner can ask for..."

What in the Void? Caitlyn thought, bewildered. Who spoke like that without its being an act, and a blatant one at that? Yet it seemed real in this case. What kind of person was this? He behaved like a child, and if he had the nerve to monopolize the Grand Cleric of Kirkwall for hours for personal advice, that was also childish. Yet childish adults can be very... Caitlyn broke off that thought, trying not to judge so harshly. Some immature adults were dangerous; others were not.

Elthina seemed to appreciate the effusive praise, however, patting the young prince on his armored shoulder. "I only point you to the Maker and His Prophet," she said serenely. "You will receive your answer, Sebastian, if you pray enough, and it will be when the Maker wills it. We cannot rush that." She noticed Petrice and Caitlyn, and the broad, rather smug and self-satisfied look on her face faded—at the prospect that she might have actual work to do? Caitlyn thought darkly.

"Good afternoon, my sister," Elthina said to Petrice. She nodded curtly to Caitlyn. "And Lady Caitlyn Hawke. I heard of your mother's restoration to the family property and your recent marriage to the Fereldan Grey Warden we have here. Congratulations to your family."

Sebastian stopped in the corridor. "I am pleased to make your acquaintance too," he said. "I am Sebastian of Starkhaven. Others may call me by a title, but I have not decided yet... You restored the fallen fortunes of your family, as the Grand Cleric says?"

Caitlyn was rather taken aback at this interjection. "I have," she said, "and I heard of the tragedy of yours. You have my sympathies, but the situations are different, so you must consider what is right for you."

Elthina stepped forward, maternal once again, as she dealt with him. "There now, Sebastian, I must speak with them now. We may confer later after you have reflected quietly and prayed."

Caitlyn's respect for him shrank even lower when he acquiesced to this coaxing and prepared to leave, but before he could effect his exit, the meeting was interrupted by the Chantry sister who had been essentially guarding the Grand Cleric from her own people before. Behind her was Meredith Stannard, who was fully armored and armed—yet another carrying weapons in the Chantry—and who looked very angry.

"What is the meaning of this?" the sister exclaimed. "The Grand Cleric was not to be interrupted, serah," she said to Caitlyn. "The Knight-Commander will escort you—oh." She grimaced as she noticed Petrice's presence, suddenly realizing the situation.

"That's right, Sister Rictruda," said Petrice menacingly. "We have legitimate business with her, and the Prince was already leaving her office when we approached it. You owe this lady an apology."

Caitlyn's heart had almost stopped at the sister's words about Meredith escorting her. She was absolutely convinced that the hostile Templar leader suspected that she was a mage, and she did not want to be alone with the woman. For the first time, she wondered if Petrice had been right and she should have just agreed to tell a white lie to Anders—or even say that she couldn't get an audience with Elthina at all, which would not really have been a lie. This was becoming dangerous. Anders was not here to invoke the Right of Conscription. She had not, of course, brought her staff; any defense would be limited to what she could do unaided. And while she firmly believed that Petrice was another who armed herself in the Chantry and likely carried poisons and daggers beneath those priestly robes right now, she doubted that Petrice would attack the Knight-Commander and Grand Cleric for her—unless they could scramble a plan quickly to account for the evidence.

"I... am sorry," said Rictruda, her gaze cast down. "Your Highness..."

"Brother Sebastian, if you will," he said.

"As you wish, serah. If your business with Her Grace is concluded, I will show you to your quarters."

The sister and the white-armored Sebastian left. Caitlyn and Petrice followed Elthina into her office. Meredith Stannard looked as though she wanted to force herself in, but she allowed them to close the door behind her.

Caitlyn breathed out, trying to clear her mind of the fearful trail of wild, desperate thoughts that had almost taken her over. It's all right, she reassured herself. It's going to be all right.

They sat down. Caitlyn gazed across the high priest's desk, which was covered in papers and books. Petrice sat next to her, silent. Caitlyn knew that this was up to her. The priest had told her that.

"Your Grace," she said to Elthina, "I came here today and spoke with your... sister in the faith... about a crisis among Kirkwall's poor that is developing. As you know, Warden Anders, my husband, was sent here by the Warden-Commander of Ferelden to help the Blight refugees as a mage Healer. Over the past few days, an outbreak of disease—influenza, specifically—has been taking hold in Darktown. He is doing his best to control it and prevent it from spreading further, but he is only a single Healer, and he's becoming overwhelmed."

"I am very sorry to hear this," Elthina said, though her voice was almost toneless. "I will be sure to include them in my thoughts and prayers."

Sudden anger flared up inside Caitlyn at that response. "Thank you for that, Your Grace," she said, her teeth almost clenched. The remark was almost a snarl, but she didn't much care. "However, there is an action that you could take as well to assist the Warden mission." She decided to phrase it that way on purpose, since it sounded loftier than asking for a personal favor for Anders—and while suppressing this epidemic might not be a specific Warden order for him, it was within the purview of his task. "In his capacity as a Healer, drawing on his expertise, he has told me that he thinks additional trained mage Healers would be very helpful. Mother Petrice and I have come here today to formally request that you release some from the Circle of Magi to aid in this."

When Petrice did not contradict that, Elthina realized that it was true. She sighed heavily. Caitlyn's hope began to fade.

"I will look into the matter," she said, "but the chain of command is uncertain."

"I'm not sure I understand you," Caitlyn said, an edge to her voice. "Do you need permission from Val Royeaux? I understood that in the Blight, the Grey Wardens had the aid of all able Circle mages and did not need to ask anyone outside Ferelden for permission."

"That was during the Blight," replied the high priest. "There is no Blight now. I could release mages from the Circle temporarily, of course, but it is unclear if Grey Wardens have the authority to command them in the absence of a Blight."

Caitlyn gaped at the woman. "It is an outbreak of disease!" she exclaimed. "If they cannot take orders from An—from Warden Anders directly, could they not take orders from someone else to work with him?"

"I shall bring the Knight-Commander into this discussion," Elthina said, rising from her seat. "She should be involved in it."

Caitlyn was prepared at that point to give up and walk out, but of course, it was impossible now. Miserably she stared at her lap, not even wanting to look at Petrice—who had been absolutely correct. Did the Grand Cleric really not care about a pestilence in her city? She would care if it affected Hightown, she thought darkly.

The blonde Templar was ushered into the office, a heavy glower on her face as the high priest explained the nature of the request to her. She did not take a seat, but stood in the corner in full armor, lurking behind the Grand Cleric's desk as though she were the woman's hired muscle.

"There is precedent to allow mages of the Circle liberty to stray outside the Gallows in service to the city in an emergency," Elthina said, though her tone seemed almost reluctant to Caitlyn. "The Chantry would need to conduct an investigation of this flu outbreak to determine the extent of the pestilence and whether the Grey Warden Healer has it in hand."

"Conduct an investigation?" Caitlyn burst out, her eyes wide. She tried to collect herself. "Your Grace. With all due respect"—the words felt like a lie, but she knew she needed to say them—"there have already been deaths. You can ask my husband the Healer for his professional, expert opinion. Who would know better? If this isn't controlled, it will become a city-wide pandemic!"

"No, it won't," Meredith spoke up coldly. "There are alternative ways of controlling it that do not require the use of magic."

Caitlyn felt sick at what the Knight-Commander had apparently implied. For a moment she was actually unable to speak, she was so appalled. Wouldn't the Grand Cleric speak against the idea that she was hinting at? Wouldn't her ally?

"We could conduct an investigation," Petrice began to say, to Caitlyn's eternal gratitude, "but Serah Hawke has a point that time is of the essence when it comes to controlling disease. In Val Royeaux, pestilence can spread quickly in the poorer neighborhoods. We can speak with the Grey Warden Healer Anders and send out brothers and sisters to quickly find the ill to ensure that the Chantry has gathered its own evidence as well. The Healer could direct us to the patients he has treated. It could be done in an afternoon and the Circle mages sent out that evening."

Elthina looked cornered, and her face contorted into prunes. She appeared ready to order the investigation, however reluctantly, when Meredith spoke again, blood vessels on her neck pulsing visibly, the lines of her face and tendons in her neck in sharp outline from her outrage.

"Darktown, where this Grey Warden mage works, is a known location of apostates and maleficarum, as well as hideouts of the illegal 'Mage Underground' organization!" she sputtered. "I will not authorize any of my mages to serve in that place, surrounded by such temptation and so many people who would help them flee the Circle. Even working beside a Grey Warden mage would tempt them, especially this one. Don't think I don't know something of his history, Serah Hawke," she added menacingly to Caitlyn.

"I beg your pardon?" Caitlyn did not bother to disguise her contempt. It was very clear now that she was not going to get a single mage, but she also wasn't going to lose her dignity and take this kind of treatment without returning some hostility of her own.

"You're married to him now, but I've heard of your child. If he really is the boy's father—"

"He is," Caitlyn snarled.

"Then you conceived while the Warden was an apostate, living unlawfully outside the Circle. I suppose you and your family sheltered him and that was how he repaid you."

If it were a fair fight and Caitlyn had her staff with her, she would have struck the Knight-Commander dead for that, reducing her to a fireball of burning flesh. But she was not alone, and she was unarmed except for her native magic. As infuriating as it was, she had no choice but to try to calm her rage.

"Knight-Commander," Petrice said angrily, "this is unworthy. What you speak of occurred in the past. It is well-known that conscription into the Grey Wardens supersedes prior obligations, and Serah Hawke and Warden Anders have done right since then in the sight of the Maker."

"Yes," Elthina finally chimed in, "personal attacks are beneath us all. Let us discuss the matter at hand."

"There is nothing to discuss. I will not release any mages for this. If the Hero of Ferelden wants this done, she can send more Grey Warden mages herself. Darktown is home to criminals and Fereldan refugees, and the Circle of Kirkwall owes no aid to Fereldans."

Elthina looked down at her desk. "The Knight-Commander makes a valid point," she said, not looking either of her guests in the eye. "There is no obligation of one nation's mages to aid citizens of another, outside of the Blights."

"The disease does not differentiate between Fereldans and Kirkwallers," Caitlyn said.

"The citizens of Kirkwall have long suffered from maleficarum who follow in the ancient Tevinters' footsteps and prey upon them," Elthina said, rising at last from her chair. "Most residents of the old mines who are not criminals are Fereldan refugees. If I overrode the Knight-Commander's decision and released mages into Darktown to aid foreigners, there could be uproar."

"Your Grace," Caitlyn said, eyeing the Grand Cleric dubiously, "are you a high priest of the Chantry, voice of the Prophet Andraste, Bride of the Maker—or a Kirkwall politician?"

Meredith sputtered, Petrice stared at Caitlyn in surprise, and Elthina drew back sharply, deeply offended. "Even priests of the Chantry must sometimes take worldly matters into account when making decisions," she said, ice in her words that had not been there before in the conversation. It was clear she was regarding Caitlyn in a new and more threatening light. "This is simply far too murky a legal matter, and the Knight-Commander raises valid points about the safety of the Darktown environment for the Circle mages. I shall pray for those who are ill in this disease outbreak and for the Maker to turn His gaze upon your Warden husband as he treats it. Peace to you, Lady Caitlyn Hawke."

That was a blatant dismissal, and, turning on her heels haughtily, Caitlyn stalked out of the nave, Petrice walking beside her.

"I told you so," Petrice said once they were in the private rooms again.

Caitlyn turned to the priest and gazed narrowly at her. "You'll actually say those exact words. Subtle you are not."

Petrice chuckled darkly. "This, from the woman who just threw down a gauntlet in front of the Grand Cleric! She will see you as a potential threat now, you know."

"That was inevitable someday soon, given our plans, and I prefer to have battle lines drawn. I do not play the Game, Mother Petrice. I was raised in Ferelden and we are blunt. I just hope I can still count on you."

"You can, and I do think you have a point, Hawke. I am not surprised that this discussion went the way it did and I think it's for the best that you saw her for what she is. She shifted from one excuse to another; her decision was already made. I was concerned that I could no longer count on you when you asked me to support you as you asked her for help."

"I see her for what she is, all right," Caitlyn said bitterly. "It's a disappointment; I did hope that I could persuade her on a humanitarian concern this once—and it would have had nothing to do with our future plans—but apparently not. She will let a deadly disease spread if the alternative is to release some Circle mages to treat it."

"It is short-sighted and foolish," the priest agreed, "and the enemies of this city may take advantage of it. It is widely known that the oxmen have their explosive black powder and other advanced weapons that we do not have. The poor, some of them, may get the idea that the Qunari can treat their disease without magic—or perhaps Qunari agents could spread that idea, whether it is true or not. This is the type of crisis, affecting the exact population, that they exploit best."

Although she loathed many social practices of the Qun herself, Caitlyn found the priest's Qunari obsession a bit tiresome in general—but this was actually a valid point, and she acknowledged it. "You're right," she said. "The question now is, what are we going to do about it? Anders cannot hold back the flood himself, and he's going to kill himself if he tries, I fear. He has avoided catching the flu so far, but he has to have help or he'll have no strength left." Something suddenly occurred to her as the implications of this meeting sank in with her. "Mother Petrice, I do need to ask you something else. Does Ser Varnell take direct orders from you? Can you order him to do something other than be your bodyguard, or is he restricted by people higher up?"

"I can give him other orders, yes, but our superiors might notice if I stationed him outside your husband's clinic to guard it, if that is what you are hinting at."

"Not precisely," Caitlyn said. "What I have in mind is intelligence-gathering. Since my friend and I have no choice now but to take some of the workload off Anders, we'll need protection. We've never been in the Circle, so they cannot track us, but now that I've talked to the Grand Cleric and Knight-Commander about this, I'm concerned that they might keep a close watch on his clinic for apostates showing up to help him. We do have a quick getaway, but if Ser Varnell could keep an ear open for any plans of his fellows to check on the clinic..."

Petrice nodded. "I can direct him to do that. I cannot guarantee your safety, though, Hawke. Believe me," she added as Caitlyn's eyebrows flew up in sudden mistrust, "the last thing I want is for my noble ally to be thrown into the Gallows—or for that to happen to your friend after I gave you my word that I would try to prevent it. But I cannot promise that he will overhear everything. I am not intending to fail to act while preemptively covering for it, Hawke; it's just a fact."

She breathed in and out, nodding at last. "I understand. We do have a quick escape very close to the clinic, and in the worst case, Anders can invoke the Right of Conscription. But any heads-up that Varnell can give would be helpful."

"And I understand that, and I will tell him to do this."

As she left the Chantry at last, Caitlyn decided that the time had come to have another discussion with Anders that she had, however briefly, avoided. She had not had anything to confess to a priest, but she did have something to confess to him. She hoped that he would be reasonable about it.


She was not surprised in the least when, after she returned to the clinic and told him about the disastrous interview, Justice briefly took him over.

"I thought that she would release a few Healers for the good of the city!" he roared, blue light blazing from his eyes. His wrath was not, of course, directed at Caitlyn, so even though it was still intimidating when this happened, she was not afraid of him personally.

"I had hopes of it until Petrice warned me that she probably wouldn't do it," she replied.

Anders—Justice?—turned around, Fade-light still blazing from his eyes and running down his body. "I did not approve of that priest," he boomed, "because I did not think that the Grand Cleric was... wicked. I thought her weak and beholden to others in power."

"I wondered, but that was what most Fereldans believed—or wanted to."

"But this discussion shows otherwise. She is unjust. She hides behind the Knight-Commander! Do as you will in your alliance. She must go, by whatever means necessary." His amplified, attenuated spirit voice was dark and menacing.

Mal had been studying the jars of dried herbs in the supply area, but this got his attention. He turned around and stared in shock. "Father?" he said. Anders did not appear to hear.

Caitlyn was frightened now, because a pure spirit of Justice surely would not endorse a figure like Petrice, let alone "whatever means necessary." This seemed like its Vengeance aspect, and that was scary with their son present. She swallowed hard, deciding to attempt humor on it, to bring Anders back out and get the spirit to recede. "I'm happy to know I have your approval, dear," she said, forcing sarcasm into her words.

The gambit worked. The light in his eyes wavered a bit and then began to recede quickly. In a moment, he was himself again, breathing heavily. He gazed at her, shocked.

"Are you all right?" she asked, relieved.

Anders breathed heavily once again, trying to control his temper and his spirit. "Yes. Maker's fu... blood," he quickly corrected himself, remembering the child.

Mal approached his parents. "Father? Are you all right? Was that... magic?"

Anders looked horribly guilty as he faced his son. "I—yes, I am all right," he said brokenly, his face crumpled. "It was magic, son. Special magic. I'll tell you more about it when you're older."

Caitlyn had not wanted him to see that, and she had something to show Anders that she also did not want him to see. "Mal," she urged, "let's go see what Grandma and Orana have been doing! And I bet Pounce and Baldwin would like some playtime."

"Oh, yes," the boy said eagerly. "I love Baldwin. And I love Pounce too."

As Anders waited in the clinic, still looking devastated and ashamed of himself, she hurried him to the shortcut and into the basement of the house. Once he was safely inside, she hesitated. Was it time to tell Anders of her new magical studies? Yes, she decided. She took a deep breath and made some painful preparations before leaving the basement for Darktown once again.

That done, she reentered the clinic, where Anders was still waiting.

"Please don't scold me," he begged her when she came back. "There's nothing you could say that I haven't said to myself in my mind. I never wanted Mal to witness that, let alone..." He broke off, shuddering.

Caitlyn thought she knew what he had avoided saying. "I know. He didn't seem like Justice. He seemed vengeful. Was that... well... his dark aspect?"

Anders blanched. "Yes, I think he was Vengeance. I'm very, very angry about the Grand Cleric," he said, "and... I'm sure that is why it happened." He sighed. "I'm sorry. I will try not to let my anger bleed into him like that again. It's unfair to him."

She moved closer and gave him a kiss on the cheek to reassure him.

He managed a smile and really did appear calmed now. "All right," he said. "I hoped that the Grand Cleric would listen to one of her own priests, at least, but it seems not, so we have no choice now. I'm still concerned about supplies, though. I know Merrill doesn't require lyrium to boost her magic, but... oh holy Maker."

Caitlyn had raised her arm, displaying the cloth wrap that she had wrapped around it during her brief stop at home and the red stain on the cloth. She gazed back at him pointedly.

"What have you done?" he exclaimed, distraught. "Did she involve you in demonic—"

"No," Caitlyn replied at once. "I read about how to do it in a book that the slaver gang left behind in the family library. Anders... I also realized... I read about a blood ward in that same book, and I think it's the one my father based his wards on when we lived in Lothering." She stared pleadingly at him. "If that's the case, I've already used blood magic. I just didn't know it."

Anders was silent for a moment before replying. "Yes," he croaked. "The wards were blood magic. He confessed it when we were... walking on the road that day. I never thought to tell you. It didn't seem important and I didn't want to tarnish your memories of your father, to have you think of him as a 'maleficar'..."

She closed the distance between them and caressed his cheek. "This doesn't do that, Anders," she assured him. "I know he did it for a good reason—had me do it, I should say—and the book said that you don't actually have to deal with demons to perform a spell; you just draw magic from your own life force. I certainly didn't feel any demons when I put up those wards, years ago, and I won't have anything to do with them when I use it to renew my magic after healing people."

"Doing it at all makes you more susceptible to them."

"Being a mage makes you more susceptible to them," she retorted. "I can handle this."

He was still grimacing. "But... I just hate that you're risking yourself for me. And a few years ago, you would have hated the idea of doing it at all, for any reason. What is the line now?"

"This is the line," she said firmly. "This, right here. Protective wards and a backup source of magic for crucial occasions when I don't have another option. I will not learn any spells for enslaving people's minds or boiling their blood from the inside or stealing life force from my own friends."

He placed his hands on her upper arms, holding her though not fully embracing her. His expression was uneasy and sad, but resigned. "All right," he said. "I trust you. I really do. If any mage can hold to that line, it's you. I believe in you, love, and I'll support you."

"What do you mean, 'support'?" She was moved by his vote of confidence, but she did not really believe that Anders, who was against blood magic, would "support" her study of it.

"I mean that you can tell me if you're ever feeling... tempted, or if you cross your line and need to talk about it. I want you to confide in me if that ever happens. I want you to know, darling, that you can trust me. I'll do what I can to help you."

Without a word, without anything but a muted cry, she wrapped her arms around him tightly. He enveloped her in his, caressing her shoulders and burying his face in the scent of her hair. In that moment, he did believe that they could do anything as long as they stood beside each other.


Caitlyn and Merrill came to the clinic every morning after that. Together the three of them put up a transparent magical barrier to divide the clinic in order to separate the contagious patients from those who were not, since only Anders knew how to ward his face. He had discovered the spell for the barrier in the Grey Wardens' supplies, and the Warden-Commander had told him it had been given to her in a Fereldan village called Honnleath in return for a service getting rid of a demon. Anders had taken notes on it himself, deeming it something he might need to use later—as he was doing now.

The two women had never studied healing before and only recently had learned even the basic spell, but that was still helpful for the patients who came into the clinic with minor injuries, exposure, and other conditions that were readily treatable. Merrill did know a great deal about herbalism and was able to specialize in potions for these patients, which enabled Caitlyn to further hone her spellcasting—and her new method of restoring magical energy to herself.

She and Merrill kept their open wounds concealed—in her case, by sleeves. Merrill's Dalish armor was more revealing, but she could pretend that the wrap covering her blood font was actually just a decoration. Caitlyn still tried not to tap from that source of magic any more than she had to. She knew that Anders did not actually like this, though he recognized the necessity of it in the ongoing emergency, and she did not want to become reliant on it herself either.

The first day that she and Merrill began working beside Anders, a visitor showed up who was not a patient. Caitlyn suddenly noticed that Anders was seething, as she glanced askance across the magical barrier, and she followed his glare to the open door. A familiar face towered behind the next patient who was waiting in line: Fenris.

Caitlyn did not have anyone to treat right this moment, so she decided to see to this before Anders blew up. She walked through the door on "her" side of the clinic and stood in front of him, staring pointedly.

He looked down, clearing his throat awkwardly. "I heard from Varric that you and Merrill were helping him with the disease outbreak," Fenris said, unable to meet her eyes.

"Yes," she replied. "We are. We're taking all the patients that don't require Anders' specialized skills in order to ease his workload." She pointedly stared at him until he lifted his gaze to hers.

"I am sorry for my reaction in the Tevinter lair the other day," Fenris said abruptly. "I was wrong to condemn all mages. This"—he gazed through the open doors at the clinic—"these are good deeds. Please carry my apology to Merrill as well, and Anders."

She nodded. "Apology accepted. I have tried to be understanding because you have reasons to feel the way you do about magic, but that day, that comment—I was already angry about something else involving my mother, and you did cross a line, Fenris."

"I know. I will make sure I don't do that again. It is... very strange... for me to accept the aid of mages who truly don't mean ill to me, who are not trying to trick and deceive me. But so it is." He did not smile, exactly; Caitlyn had never once seen him smile, but it was something approaching it. "I won't take any more of your time. I do not require healing, and these people do." He made to leave.

Anders was visibly surprised that this meeting had gone well—and relieved that she, rather than he, had been the one to have it. He smiled at her in pleasure as she returned to Merrill to pass the word.


The epidemic continued, and Caitlyn found herself understanding Anders' earlier frustration even though the number of patients he was seeing for the flu began to level off, peak, and then, perhaps, decline. But the combination of the extremely potent lyrium and the two additional healers in the clinic—even if they were not the specialized, highly trained Healers he had wanted the Circle to release—helped them to finally begin to control the disease.

Caitlyn also realized that she did not mind the long hours in the clinic as long as she could be with him and Mal the whole time. That was somewhat unsettling; it seemed to imply that her previous irritation about his hours was indeed selfish. He is a Healer, she told herself one night. This is how it is for him during challenging times. I'm just glad that I can help him when these times occur, so I do get to be with him and Mal. I'm happier when we're partners in anything that is highly important to one of us... and he seems to be as well. That realization was exhilarating to her; it meant that she had a path to keep them happy. Merrill's presence also helped; she did not know if the young elf and Carver really were corresponding, but even if Merrill was not "family," she was certainly a friend.

Late one night, after Mal had already gone to sleep on a free patient bed and they had taken down the magical barrier, Caitlyn noticed that Anders was writing something on what appeared to be a calendar. He stared at it, then whooped.

"Good news?" she inquired.

He grinned. "I've been keeping notes on the number of flu patients each day since it began. That's what this is. We've beaten it, love."

"You had flu patients today," she said.

"Yes, and I'm sure I will have some tomorrow, but I know the trajectory of epidemics. We've beaten it, based on the numbers I see." He beamed at her. "We just need to keep doing what we have been doing, and it will subside quite soon." He pumped a fist in the air and laughed. "With no Circle captives needed! Apostates and a Grey Warden!"

Caitlyn laughed triumphantly with him, and she was suddenly quite certain that he was in the mood to "celebrate" later tonight in bed. That, unfortunately, had been a part of their relationship that had suffered for his—now their—long hours. They had tried to make up for it by cuddling and touching each other at every opportunity, but now, she was hungry for more—and he was too.

Of course, at that very minute, a hard, rather desperate knock sounded on the clinic door. Anders shook his head in mild exasperation, but the smile remained on his face—until he opened it and saw a young woman in the armor of a Templar trainee before them.

"Serah," she exclaimed urgently, "Warden. Your lady wife and her friend need to leave quickly!"

Anders' face fell and instantly became deadly serious. Caitlyn turned to the Templar trainee. "Who sent you here?" she demanded.

"Ser Varnell," the young woman replied. "You must go! The Knight-Commander is sending a squad here. There was a claim that... that the Healers were performing blood magic. Of course, I know it can't be true, but you know about..."

Caitlyn replied as Anders gave Merrill a repressive look, indicating to the elf to keep her mouth shut. This was no time for one of her innocent, naïve bursts of honesty. "Thank you for the warning," she said. "I do know about the Knight-Commander and some of her favorites, who see blood magic everywhere there is a mage. You should go too, so they don't find you here!" She considered for a moment, then threw her a gold sovereign for her trouble.

The young Templar-in-training nodded quickly and scampered off. Anders turned to Caitlyn and Merrill with concern. "You should take Mal to the house too," he urged. "Merrill, stay with her. Don't go to the alienage yet. There are places you can hide in our house. You're safer there than on the streets, in case those thugs got a description of you and try to arrest you there."

Caitlyn instantly lifted her sleeping son from the bed and arranged him carefully but quickly in her arms, letting him rest his head on her shoulder. "What about you?" she said unhappily.

"I... need to be here," he said, his voice pained. "Someone needs to give them a plausible excuse. If the clinic is empty, they might show up at the front door and demand to raid the house. I can handle them, love."

"But what about Justice?"

"I will keep him from appearing unless it's necessary to save my life. I promise."

She believed him in that moment, and she saw his argument, but still, this was the very scene that she had not wanted to experience ever again. I am leaving him, she thought. I am leaving him, knowing that he is about to face hostile Templars. The last time this happened...

She took a deep breath. He is a Grey Warden and everyone in the city knows that he has the protection of the Hero of the Fifth Blight, one of the greatest living figures in Thedas. They can't do a damn thing to him. Even if he really were a blood mage, he is beyond their authority.

"I'm storming the Gallows if you don't come back," she whispered to him as she left with Merrill and Mal. He stared back, a forced, rather bitter smile on his face as they left the clinic.


Caitlyn quickly put Mal to bed and urged Merrill to hide with Orana in the elven maid's bedroom until Anders made his appearance. She was worried sick, and finally, her mother brought her a nightcap, a glass of fine Tevinter brandy. It settled her nerves a little bit, as did the affections of the mabari and the orange cat—who had readily accepted her as the mate of his master, or whatever a cat would consider its caretaker—but ultimately, she knew that only Anders' appearance itself could assuage her terror.

At last he emerged from the basement. She rushed to greet him, throwing her arms around him as if she never wanted to let him go. They stumbled into the living room, where the animals remained, and sat down side by side on the divan, still holding each other around the waist.

"Even though I knew it was coming, I can still hardly believe it," Anders finally said. He was livid. She glanced at his face and realized that she had never seen him this angry except when the spirit was controlling him. "The Knight-Commander, and probably the Grand Cleric too, interfered with a Healer who they knew was trying to stop a disease outbreak! They knew it, they had already denied me any Circle Healers, and then they did this!"

"Are Merrill and I going to be safe returning tomorrow?" she asked him. "Will you be able to control the outbreak if we aren't there?"

He sighed, rubbing his forehead. "I'm uneasy for both of you now," he admitted, "but yes, it's at a stage I can control. I don't think I even convinced the Templars that I am not a blood mage. I showed them my arms—no scars and no wounds—but they know I'm a good Healer, so I don't think that persuaded them. I think they only held back because they know I am a Grey Warden and they cannot publicly arrest me. I told them that it was a lie that I had any apostates or maleficarum helping me. They might have been happy to take Merrill, of course, but love... I think they were after you."

Caitlyn's gaze hardened. "Those bitches," she seethed. "I've told you that I think Meredith suspects I am a mage. If she and Elthina have decided to have each other's backs, seeing a threat—and after the audience I had with them, I'm sure they do see a threat—then of course she shared that information with Elthina. They were targeting me to remove that threat. You're right."

"They probably sent someone with a minor injury, or even paid someone off who really did have one, to be an informant. And you and Merrill would have treated a patient like that," he growled.

"I kept my bandage covered. No one should have seen blood."

"They wouldn't have to. They see blood mages wherever there are apostates."

She knew he was right, and it sickened, enraged, and terrified her. She tried to settle her own fears. "We have allies," she reminded him, "and whatever their moral failings might otherwise be, they proved that they can be trusted when it comes to personal loyalty. We'll get Meredith and Elthina someday. This, I swear."

He nodded, at that moment believing it.


Even without any additional help, Anders did manage to corral the outbreak. At last a day came when no flu patients appeared in his clinic. Caitlyn was extremely proud of him and decided, in a flash of inspiration, to get him another gift: a thoroughly impractical gift, rather than the likes of a box of lyrium potions. He deserved something frivolous after working so hard.

And yet, she thought as she gave the order to his favorite merchant in Lowtown, is this so frivolous?

She kept the secret from him until finally, a couple of weeks later, a courier appeared at the door with a message for Caitlyn: The rare book that she had ordered had arrived.

"Let's all go," Caitlyn urged him, taking Mal's hand to calm him down once the boy had started to bounce on the balls of his feet eagerly. Anders nodded at once, and they set out for the market.

The marketplace was bustling, so they had to wait until some of the hubbub died down and the merchant could attend to his "special" customer without being noticed by others in line. At last people began to depart to their homes for their midday meals, and Caitlyn took the vendor aside.

The seller slyly slipped her a parcel covered in brown sackcloth. "You're going to get me arrested for heresy with another order like this one," he said, but it was apparent that he was joking.

Still, Anders raised his eyebrows at her. "What book is this, exactly?" he asked as they headed back to Hightown. "One of the apocryphal canticles? A Black Chantry text? A tome about spirits of the Fade? I could tell that he was making a joke, but it must be somewhat controversial."

"It's not a canticle," Caitlyn said, smirking. They reached the Hawke estate and slipped inside. "It's not a research or religious text at all, and it certainly isn't 'heresy.' But it's very hard to find, and I think you'll enjoy it very much."

Anders was very intrigued now. "Well, I assume you wouldn't order an adult romance novel for me, so—" He broke off.

She pulled the cloth off the book, revealing its title, stamped in black on a dark blue cloth cover. It was evident that this was a very old book; the cloth was battered and the pages were aged.

"The Snow Queen of the Frostbacks?" Anders read, his brow furrowing darkly. "That's just a children's folktale... and it vilifies magic. The evil barbarian mage queen steals children and freezes them, until the sister reaches her palace by reciting the Chant of Light and Orlesian Templars Smite their way through her evil, wicked snowflakes. I hated that story..." As he spoke, however, the gears in his head suddenly clicked into place. Caitlyn would hate such a story too and would not give it to him as a gift. "Wait. This book is old. It's not the version we know, is it?"

Caitlyn was grinning as he figured it out. She handed him the book and he opened it. It was illustrated with highly detailed woodcuts. "No, it isn't," she said. "The original version is Avvar and it's very, very different. Father knew it, somehow. He didn't have a book, but he told it to us in Ferelden years ago when we were children. Read it, Anders. It's a quick read."

Anders paged quickly through the book. As a children's tale, it was a quick read even though the grammar was archaic. "It's true," he gasped. "In the Avvar tale, the snow queen was a victim, not a villain." His eyes were wide with shock. "The old chieftain and his wife were afraid of their heiress because she was a mage, so they forced her to suppress her magic and hide what she was—and the blizzard on the mountain happened when she finally couldn't control it any longer."

"Keep reading," she urged him, smiling.

He subsided, reading quickly through the book.

"I want to see," Mal begged.

She smiled gently at him. "You'll get to, sweetheart, once your father is finished."

Anders reached the end of the story and looked up at Caitlyn, still astonished. "The 'sister' was originally the queen's actual sister! And persuades her to accept being a mage and to use her powers for good." He grinned wickedly at Caitlyn, passing the book back to her. "I like it. I see why the Chantry completely changed this story for general consumption. Thank you, love. I had no idea this existed, and I regret that. It's a lovely tale."

Caitlyn's eyes widened as she paged through it. "Oh my, there's even an Avvar ballad in it that she sings when she accepts what she is! Father didn't know about that. That's new to me too."

Mal was pulling at her sleeve. "Let me see now," he pleaded. "Please, Mamma. Please?"

Caitlyn handed the book to him. "Be careful," she said. "The book is very old and rare."

"I will," he promised.

They sat down in the living room, where Baldwin and Pounce rested peacefully by the hearth. Mal opened the book in his lap. His parents watched, amused, as he stared at the pretty woodcuts, pretending to read...

"A l...oh...n...long time ago... in... tuh...huh...the..."

Caitlyn and Anders looked up sharply.

"Moon...tay..."

"Mountains," Caitlyn whispered, staring at her son in awe.

"Mountains!" Mal exulted.

"You're reading," Anders said, also in a whisper, his eyes wide.

Mal blinked as it dawned on him. "I'm reading!" he exclaimed, leaping up—but still remembering to be careful with the antique book. "I can read!"

Caitlyn got to her feet and hurried to his chair to give him a hug. Anders was close behind her. When she finally released the little boy, she noticed that two tear streaks had appeared on Anders' face.

"You didn't miss this," she whispered to him in his ear, giving him a hug too. "You saw this milestone, darling. And it was your book, a nice story about a mage, that he read first."

He choked back a sob as he pulled Caitlyn and Mal into an embrace.


Intensely proud of himself for learning how to read, and also genuinely liking the folktale, Mal cajoled his mother into singing the Avvar ballad for him. Caitlyn had not sung in a long, long time, and it brought back painful memories of Bethany and her lute... but perhaps it was time to put that in the past. Refusing to sing ever again would not honor her sister. Besides, Mal liked this story—no, loved it—and it was the exact type of message that she and Anders wanted to teach him, especially if he himself manifested magic in a few years.

Orana readily learned the song, although it was a mode of musical composition that was unfamiliar to her. As Caitlyn began to sing for him, with the elf strumming her lute, she did feel a moment of mourning and agony at first... but then, after that, it was almost like a release. I hope that somewhere, Bethany is smiling in approval, she thought.


Of course, three days later, when Mal was incessantly singing the catchiest parts of the ballad, she wished that she had never taught it to him. That bloody song...

"Here," Caitlyn finally said. "Let's go outside to play. You too, Baldwin."

"And you, Pounce," Anders said, picking up his cat. He breathed deeply as they ushered him outside, the mabari trotting behind them. He too was tired of the ballad.

As Mal played fetch with the dog, the Hawkes and Anders noticed several of their neighbors venturing out. Mal continued to sing the earworm of a ballad quietly. I really hope no Templars pass by, Caitlyn thought, or if they do, that they do not recognize it for what it is.

A neighbor began to approach, and Caitlyn realized that it was Ser Marlein Selbrech. Unlike many wealthy part-time residents of Hightown who had foreign titles—mostly Orlesian or Tevinter, it seemed—she was actually an aristocrat of Kirkwall, a landed knight. She had welcomed the family to their new home (or old, in Leandra's case) and had expressed approval of Anders even knowing that he was a mage and had been an apostate when he had fathered Mal. Since harmless apostates did not seem to concern Ser Marlein, Caitlyn wanted to reveal herself to the woman when the time was right, and she had hopes that Ser Marlein might turn out to be a noble supporter of her ambition someday.

"Ah," said the lady as she drew near. "I know that tune." When Anders looked up in surprise, she gave a quick nod. "Oh yes, I have the original story too. My daughter went through a phase a couple of years ago with it... She even wanted to be a mage so that she could make it snow whenever she wanted." Ser Marlein's face suddenly became serious as she looked at Mal, who was innocently playing with a stick. "I... suppose he actually could be one. I..." She sighed, staring at the little family, a pained look coming over her face as she realized that it could be torn apart again someday. "Something needs to change."

In that moment, Caitlyn decided to take a bold risk. "Perhaps that change could happen sooner than you think," she ventured. "There are those of us who have strong interests in seeing the change take place. We just need strength of numbers."

The lady considered Caitlyn's words before nodding. "We should keep up an acquaintance."


Notes: This AU is not for readers who approve of Grand Cleric Elthina, and although that's going to be more important later, this chapter is the clearest indication of it thus far. Hawke's maneuverings prior to this chapter could have been explained purely on the basis of a quid pro quo, her wanting a Grand Cleric who owed her for when she makes her own move for power—but there is more to it now, after this chapter. My opinion of Elthina radically evolved since I first played DA2 and is extremely negative now, and this AU's depiction of her is not going to get better.

Yes, somehow, even in Thedas, families with small children have to deal with some form of you-know-what song. This story needed a bit of levity, I think. (And I am indeed aware that the Hans Christian Andersen version is actually the original, which is so much meta irony that I'm just going to quit this while I… think… I'm ahead.)