Notes: Thank you for reading this story! Slow-ish chapter, still setting the stage, but I'm trying to line up all the pieces.

This chapter doesn't have a song. It does, however, have some NSFW content at the very end!


Chapter 31: The Peaceful Transfer of Power


Dragon 9:34, Val Royeaux, Orlais.

The ornamental trees that lined certain streets were beginning to sprout yellow and light green leaflets, as well as delicate buds for the flowering species. The golden spires and marble statues gleamed triumphantly in the sunlight, a glamorous display of centralized wealth and power. Val Royeaux was the capital of an empire—an empire in decline, it was true, and an empire facing suggestions of internal tumult. Empress Celene was still unwed, and a war of succession between the other contenders from the Valmont family tree seemed to be looming at some date in the future.

But for the present moment, the other seat of power in Orlais—the Sunburst Throne—was empty. Beatrix III, whose rule as Divine was uninspired at best and at worst was overtly political in favor of the secular Orlesian empire and the doctrinal status quo, was dead. The faithful—and those in the Orlesian aristocracy who claimed faith, whether truthfully or not—wore black and dark colors of mourning, despite the fact that it was spring. The streets of Val Royeaux lacked their usual cornucopia of color and flamboyance. The Conclave of high priests and Grand Clerics had not yet chosen a successor, which the city knew from the fact that no one had emerged from the secret location in the Grand Cathedral where they were required to convene until they did pass a vote. Black smoke had poured from the chimney of this annex three days in a row, signifying that no contender had a majority.

Aristocrats and common folk of the city chattered among themselves about the process and what it could mean that it was taking so long. There were two dark clouds hanging over the Conclave. The empire was in decline this age, whether the nobles liked that or not, and it was an open question now as to whether the Chantry should fight for the secular interests of royals or accept this period of decline and distance itself from the Orlesian throne after the controversially close ties that Beatrix had formed. There were even a few radical voices calling for the Canticle of Drakon to be declared Dissonant, as a political propaganda tract to promote the Orlesian empire rather than an inspired text from the Maker. There were not nearly enough for a majority, and most of these clerics were not Orlesian... but they were making their voices heard in this crucial moment, putting out a shocking new idea that they would not likely have voiced before this Divine's death.

The second dark cloud was the growing concern about conflict and even, in the worst case, potential schism in the Chantry over the Circles. Increasingly loud voices among the clergy were calling for change in how mages in the southern nations lived. A woman known only as "Nightingale" to most seemed especially vocal about the latter, and the whispered rumor was that this woman was not a priest, but rather, had worked with the Hero of the Fifth Blight, who herself had defeated that ancient evil with the aid of mages and Dalish elves—groups that were not exactly in high favor in Divine Beatrix's court. On the other hand, extreme hardliners were also becoming more vocal; they thought that the proper answer to these calls for reform was a harsh crackdown and further empowerment of the Templar Order not just against mages, but non-mages who took their side. The most extreme had even, rumor had it, put forth a very unorthodox candidate for Divine, a female Templar, a Knight-Commander known for taking hard lines. No one knew for sure if that rumor was true; no foreign Knight-Commanders were in Val Royeaux right now, so this person had been nominated in absentia if the story was accurate.

Nightingale also had a candidate for Divine, apparently, though no one knew exactly who it was either. But everyone did agree that the outcome of this Conclave would likely influence the direction of the Chantry through much of this age. Decisions that Beatrix's successor made on either issue might prove difficult to reverse, especially if they were change decisions rather than decisions to bolster the status quo a bit longer. It was momentous, and with the magnitude of this particular Conclave, no one seemed overly surprised that it was moving so slowly.

Yet there was a mood change today. The city seemed on edge, as if people knew that the big question would finally be answered. That, of course, would likely only open many new questions...

A group had gathered in the marketplace nearest the Cathedral to watch for signs. Suddenly excited voices began to fill the air, and fingers pointed at the chimney... from which white smoke now poured.

Within an hour, the city criers were proclaiming the surprising news: Mother Dorothea, a reform-minded priest of Orlais and apparently the choice of Nightingale, had been chosen to assume the Sunburst Throne and had taken the name Divine Justinia V. The news spread rapidly throughout Val Royeaux. From there the messengers took the news to the rest of the lands of the Orlesian Chantry, most of which had not yet heard of the precipitating event: The old Divine was dead, and a new one had been chosen.

Within two weeks, word had reached Kirkwall.


Caitlyn leaned back in her chair and stared out the window into the night sky, her face filled with lines of concern. Beatrix was unhelpful, she thought, staring at the moon through the trees. She was not on our side. This new Divine is Leliana's mentor in the Chantry, and that has to be a very good thing for us.

And yet... Beatrix died suddenly. She was old, but she still had a sudden death, not a gradual decline. What if— She broke off this trail of thought, frightened to carry it to its conclusion again.

"What's the matter, love? I would have thought that the news we heard today would make you happy. Do you know something I don't?"

She glanced up to see that Anders had entered the sitting room. He crossed the room and sat down beside her.

Well, there was no choice now but to voice the fear that she had just refused to think. "It is good news... I think," she said. "Unless Justinia changes and becomes more traditional now, this is good news for us."

"So that's what you're worried about? That she will become timid?"

"Not exactly," she admitted. "As long as Leliana has her ear, I am not too worried about that—though we still need to work on Kirkwall, which has an immediate effect on us as opposed to the goings-on in Orlais. Despite the outcome, there are seats of extreme traditionalism... and I think Kirkwall might be one at present. I heard that a group of radical reactionaries actually nominated Meredith to be Divine," she muttered darkly.

Anders drew back, his face twisting in contempt. "They're really getting bold, aren't they? A Templar as Divine? Because age after age of Templar-approving priests isn't good enough?" He paused for a moment, thinking. "Was Kirkwall's Grand Cleric at that Conclave, then? Did she do it?"

"I don't know who did it," Caitlyn said. "I assume Elthina was there, but I don't know how she voted. That's secret. I assume, based on how she behaved during the flu epidemic two years ago, that she would not have voted for Justinia." She sighed, taking a deep breath. "What I was worried about was something else. Beatrix died suddenly. She wasn't thought to be ill. She was just... gone after a terrible spasm."

Anders thought he understood. "You think she might have been assassinated?"

"Honestly, Anders..." She lowered her voice, though no one should be awake in the house right now except the two of them. "I'm worried that if she was assassinated, that Petrice might've arranged for it. She was an Orlesian noble, and you know she's capable of it." She sighed again. "And if she did... well, I'm afraid I have made a mistake. If it wasn't a natural death and she was involved, I am not sure that I really want to know. I don't see any other option for us here in Kirkwall. If there are other priests who are moderate about mages, I don't know who they are, and they are not ambitious like she is. Even if she did that, I don't see that I have a choice but to continue to support her—so I'd rather not know."

Anders considered that, then chose his words very carefully. "I understand—but just put the idea out of your mind if you don't want to think about it. Odds are, she died naturally anyway. She was old and frail, I thought. The Chantry might have been covering up an illness with this 'frail' claim for a long time. And, well, as a Healer... I know that there are conditions that can carry people off very quickly, especially older people." He noticed that she did not seem reassured by his words. "But even if your worst fear is right," he added, "I don't know that I'd say it's a mistake. As you said yourself, what other options are there among Kirkwall priests who both don't mind mages and are willing and able to challenge Elthina?"

"Oh... I don't mean that that was the mistake," she clarified. "The mistake might be... well, I am not sure I want to know, but it seems that I'm going to find out. I, er... I... have written to Leliana to visit whenever she can to talk about it privately, in case she might know something about the circumstances of Beatrix's death that outsiders wouldn't know," she admitted to him. "I hope that's all right with you. She is with Lady Cousland now. There would be no..." She trailed off uneasily.

Anders gazed at her, thoughts warring within him. She is committed to me, he told himself. We are married and we trust each other. Leliana is also in an exclusive relationship. There is no threat, except perhaps the threat that things will get awkward. That... could certainly happen. But it has been a while, over three and a half years for them now, and they've both moved on.

It was four years for us, and we hadn't, another voice in his head—not the voice of Justice, but a dissenting thought of his own—reminded him maddeningly.

That is because neither of us ended it ourselves. That's different. Hopefully Leliana will be able to discuss the Conclave without anything becoming difficult. She was a bard, after all; she is trained to conceal emotions. And her emotions for Caitlyn should long ago have subsided into friendship, since she is with Cousland and she knows that Cait is with me.

The other, malicious little trickster of a voice spoke up again. And how long has she known that? How does Cait know how to reach her? How long have they been corresponding?

"How did you know where she is?" Anders burst out—and he realized, as soon as the words left his mouth, that this was a horrible response to her unease and uncertainty.

She winced and stared at him with wide eyes. "I just assumed she would be at the Grand Cathedral, beside Justinia," she said. "I haven't... I haven't been sending her letters behind your back, Anders. I haven't known exactly where she was until now, and I am only assuming this now!"

He instantly sat down beside her and embraced her. "I'm sorry," he exclaimed. "I didn't mean for that to be the first thing I said, and of course, you're right that it's natural to assume she's at the Cathedral. I don't know why that burst out."

She gave him a wry but somewhat relieved smile. "You're not feeling a bit jealous, are you?"

He returned the exact look that she was giving him. "Maybe? I hope not too much, though."

"There's no reason to discuss our past relationship, and I wouldn't do that to you," she said. "And I'm not even sure she can come, or how soon, given that she's bound to be involved in the proceedings to some degree."

"It will probably still be awkward," he said, "but... she ended it. And she did it because she could tell you still cared about me and even tried to send a message to you about me. That isn't the action of someone still carrying a torch, even if she weren't with Cousland now."

"I am glad I didn't receive that message, given that it would have been word of your presumed death," she said quietly. "I still heard the rumors about the Fereldan Circle here, of course... but nothing specific about you. I could still hold onto hope that you had survived, even though I didn't have hope any longer that I would see you again."

He hesitated, thinking back to those dark times. His time in Amaranthine was one of valor and heroism, he knew... but it was also an exceedingly dark, sad, and depressing time for him, one in which he gradually lost all hope, and he had tried not to think too much about it since then. He also preferred not to think about the tragedy that had befallen the Circle, since absolutely nothing good had come of it whatever. Even Karl had not, ultimately, survived, which had been the one thing he had held onto in Amaranthine as a vaguely good outcome. And he definitely had not thought about the circumstances of his escape...

"Cait, there's something I need to tell you about that. It's not a huge secret on the scale of Justice—at least, I don't think it is—and I haven't kept it from you deliberately. I truly just haven't thought about it."

"What do you mean?"

"There is a reason they presumed I was dead. I never meant for you to receive that message—and I'm glad that you didn't—but I was presumed dead because that was my intention when I made my last escape. I was not part of the group of blood mages that took over—"

"Oh, Maker, Anders, I never thought that!" she exclaimed. "You don't need to reassure me of that."

"Well, wait to hear the rest of it," he said darkly. "I had no idea that this group existed or that anything was being planned—my escape's timing a few days before they did it was purely coincidental—but, erm, I did something dubious of my own to fake my death and get out." He took a deep breath. "I learned from some old notes that there was a... watchguard..." He broke off. "Oh, to the Void with this obfuscation. I stole Templar armor, put it on, and set a rage demon loose to make people think I'd become an abomination. It didn't kill anyone," he reassured her at once. "I just ran down the hall, armored like a Templar, shouting about it."

Caitlyn suppressed a laugh of which she was rather ashamed, but if this had not actually killed anyone... Still, there was one thing about it that concerned her. "What do you mean, you set it loose?" she asked. "It was confined, like the ones in the Grey Warden prison that my father bound years ago?"

"Something like that, just without a blood offering required. This one was summoned by interacting with statues—tapping them—in a certain order. It came up from the basement, and I had covered my tracks by telling other mages that I was going down there." In spite of himself, he smirked. "Nobody knows the truth except you, though. And Justice." He suppressed an embarrassed laugh. "I had already become a Spirit Healer through Justice, although of course we had not... done the rest... and he strongly disapproved of the entire scheme."

"I'm sure he did!" she said, trying not to smile.

"Given what happened so soon after—I heard that they were actually forcing demons to possess people, somehow—they apparently thought I was the first casualty. Until the Templars went to Denerim to clean out the phylactery storage and found that mine was still active."

"And you said that Warden Cousland does not know the truth?"

"She doesn't. The Templar who tracked me to Vigil's Keep while she was there accused me of it in front of her, but she didn't believe it. She did believe the demon was part of the blood mages' activities, but she thinks I just took advantage of the chaos to escape. And I never corrected her."

Caitlyn nodded. "No one else will know."


That night, as she cuddled beside him in bed, she thought about the discussion. He might have been a tiny bit jealous, but on the whole, he had been very reasonable and understanding. Memories of her own aggressive jealousy of Karl and deliberate cruelty to Anders when she had first met him again in Kirkwall flashed back to her mind, and the contrast filled her with shame. The more time that had passed since that night in late 9:31, the more regretful she was about that.

It's different now, she thought, turning on her side so she wouldn't have to look at him as he slept peacefully. I had no certainty of anything then. Our lives and our circumstances are much more settled now, even wondering and feeling anxious of what the future may hold. I was so jealous in part because I was adrift and had so little I could depend on.

But it wasn't really about jealousy, she reminded herself. That might have been a trigger, but my real motive was to make him hurt so that he would lash out at me and thereby absolve me of my own guilt for harboring furious, vicious thoughts about him for so long. It was worse than jealousy. Still, jealousy was a factor, and my conduct was despicable.

She closed her eyes and grimaced. I've known that it was, but it seems especially salient tonight. I haven't had the chance to see just what a stark contrast there was between our reactions until now. There was that brief time when I fancied Varric and Merrill and he was a bit possessive, but those fancies went nowhere. This... did go somewhere. Leliana is the only person of whom he could be just as jealous as I was of his other partners... actually, more so. I was with her for several months. He and Karl were together for one. Maker's breath. He exhibited only a twinge of jealousy tonight. Maybe it is partly because he's confident of us, but still... how can I ever deserve him?

Unable to stare at the wall any longer, she turned back to face him. His sleep was still peaceful, and Justice seemed to be leaving him be tonight. That meant that his dreams were good and he did not need the spirit to take over his mind and soul to get through them. Caitlyn smiled at that. He deserves good dreams, she thought, leaning over to stroke his hair gently and kiss the top of his head, before settling down as close to him as she could without waking him.


A month and a half later.

A hooded and cloaked figure slunk through the streets of Hightown. Her movements were not those of an amateurish spy trying to stay hidden while making sudden darts from point to point. Instead she walked as one familiar with the neighborhood, merely on a nightly stroll or an errand. The only unusual detail was that her face was hidden in the shadows of her hood, but that had unfortunately become a necessity recently. She passed by the Hawke mansion and continued her path to a small door tucked neatly away on a dead end. The house it belonged to was small and insignificant in the well-to-do neighborhood.

The woman raised her hand to the door and knocked a specific sequence. In a second, the door opened.

"It's you," Caitlyn whispered. "Come in." She was holding a candle; the foyer was unlit, and no lights shone through the windows.

Leliana swept inside as Caitlyn closed the door and locked it tightly. She paused in the hallway, removing her hood, as Caitlyn stepped in front of her with the candle.

"A couple of years ago I got rid of a gang that was squatting in this place," she said. "It's owned by the Viscount now after that—and I'm sorry about the lack of light, but we don't want to draw the neighbors' attention..."

Leliana merely smiled. Caitlyn was extremely nervous, and it was showing. She let the mage continue without interruption; it seemed to be what Caitlyn needed to do.

"Mother, of course, would want to know what was going on, and I'm still not entirely comfortable about... Well, I think there may be people watching who comes and goes from my house on the street. I've... made enemies. I suppose I could have hosted you in Anders' clinic in Darktown, but that seemed inhospitable..."

"I would not have been offended," Leliana finally said. "But I understand your choice of this house." She would have liked to see Leandra Hawke again, and especially little Mal—now in the heart of childhood, rather than a chubby-legged toddler with precocious speech—but she understood why Caitlyn did not want her mother to know about this visit, and she supposed that it was time to let the little boy go and accept the fact that she herself would never be the primary parent. Elissa had taken in a pair of orphaned elf children from the Denerim alienage, one of whom was the daughter of the lady-in-waiting of a Cousland vassal who had died in the massacre at Highever, and Leliana had to content herself with seeing them on the occasions when she and Elissa were together. Elissa was the primary mother; it was too dangerous for a child to be around the Left Hand of the Divine constantly. Leliana did not regret her choices of 9:30, but those choices meant that her life and Caitlyn's life had diverged greatly, and there was little to be gained from dredging up the past. She wasn't sure if Mal would even remember her now—and that is all right, she thought. He has both of his parents now, and I have my family with Elissa.

They reached a small inner room with no windows. In a battered chair sat Anders, another candle resting on a table beside him. Two more chairs had been pulled up. Caitlyn sat down on the chair on the other side of the table and placed her candle on it as well. Leliana took her seat and gazed at Anders in contemplation.

"It's a pleasure to meet you at last," she said quietly. "I heard so much about you from Lady Cousland."

"And Caitlyn," he said, his words surprisingly pointed and cool. Beside him, Caitlyn gave him a startled look.

"Yes," Leliana said, seeing no point in denying it. "From her as well. But we are not here to reminisce, I understand?" She turned to Caitlyn. "You were concerned about the death of the late Divine, I think?"

"I was concerned about that, yes," Caitlyn said, "but there were other things about the Conclave... rumors... and this far from Val Royeaux, one never knows what to believe. You were there. You were in the middle of it all."

"I cannot promise that I have answers to every question you might ask, but I will do the best that I can."

Caitlyn took a deep breath. "Of course. Well... as you say, I do have... an anxiety about Beatrix. She died very suddenly. Do you... were you in a position to know..."

"If hers was a natural death? Yes, I was," Leliana assured her. "Justinia—then Mother Dorothea, of course—and I were close at hand. It was a natural death, Caitlyn. Set your mind at ease on that matter."

"You're certain of this?"

"I am a bard with extensive knowledge of poison," Leliana said with a sad smile. "There are poisons that mimic a stroke, yes—which is what carried off Beatrix—but there are subtle differences between the poison and the real event. Poison leaves traces and has its own effects, always. Yes, I see that you know of this too," she added, noticing how Anders' eyes were fixed on hers in interest at what she was saying.

He nodded, though his posture was still strangely stiff. "It's something I have to know as a Healer, especially one serving the poor." Caitlyn gave him another confused look at the chill in his tone and affect.

"Why did you fear otherwise?" Leliana asked them sincerely.

Caitlyn breathed a sigh of relief. She knew that if she wanted to be unreasonable, she could continue to harbor her doubt and fear, but she also knew that she had no valid basis for questioning Leliana's expertise and observations. How to answer her, though? If she succeeded in her goals, Petrice would become the Grand Cleric of Kirkwall. She did not want to prejudice Leliana against her on the basis of a false fear. Whatever the priest might be capable of, she had not done this.

""There are likely people who know about my association with you, since we both lived in Lothering—just that we knew each other and were friends—and since it's Orlais, and the Conclave was apparently very contentious, I worried that Beatrix might have been assassinated as part of the Game." She made sure to put distaste into her words. The Game of Orlais was distasteful to her... and yet, she feared that she might have to play some form of it soon enough. "I just wanted to be utterly sure that it didn't happen that way—or to know, if it did."

"Then rest easily," Leliana said kindly, "because it did not. Justinia's succession was entirely normal and she did not ascend in a pool of blood."

Caitlyn managed a short laugh. "Always a relief to know!"

Leliana leaned forward. "And what were the rumors about the Conclave that you heard? Other than that it was contentious, which... well, is true?"

She bit her lip. Not all of the questions she was going to ask were actual rumors that she had heard; some of them were actually intelligence-gathering attempts on her own part, but she was deeply curious about what had transpired and what it would mean. "Well, the rumor in Kirkwall is that our Knight-Commander Meredith Stannard was proposed by somebody for Divine. If true, it wasn't taken seriously by the Conclave, I understand, but people are saying that someone still did it."

Leliana nodded. "That is true. It was shocking to almost everyone at the Conclave, even the very traditional priests. There is no canon law, after all, saying that the Divine must be a Grand Cleric—or a Revered Mother—or even a priest at all, and someday perhaps there will be one who is none of those. But it was still shocking to hear a Templar proposed, let alone one with her... reputation."

Anders had been silent for most of the conversation, almost glowering at Leliana in the dimly lit room, but this was irresistible to him. "I'm sure that whatever you have heard about her from priests is only a shadow of the truth," he said.

Leliana raised her eyebrows faintly at him. "Most likely," she agreed.

"Do you know who made that nomination?" Caitlyn asked. Who in the highest ranks of the Chantry is already against us? she thought darkly.

"I do not know," she admitted. "That was secret, too secret even for a former bard."

"I wonder..." Caitlyn hesitated. "Kirkwall's Grand Cleric Elthina seems inclined to back and enable Meredith. We saw evidence of this in the middle of 9:32 when the flu epidemic was spreading out of control for a time. Meredith refused to let any Circle Healers help Anders with that, and Elthina backed her."

"She was at the Conclave," Leliana said. "I did not speak to her. Justinia does not consider her an ally, though she has not considered her an enemy before either."

"Perhaps she should," Anders interjected.

"Refusing Healers to help quell an outbreak of infectious disease is impossible for me to justify," Leliana said. "You know that I do not agree with the policies of the Circles, but unfortunately... we are not in a majority yet in the Chantry. But the Chant of Light itself, in the words of Andraste, says that 'magic exists to serve man.' Locking Healers in a gloomy Tevinter prison when a deadly pestilence is spreading is not 'serving man.' I will definitely inform Justinia of this."

Caitlyn took another deep breath. "Leliana... on that subject... to the best of your knowledge, does Justinia intend to push for change?"

Despite the semi-permanent glower that had developed on Anders' face for this meeting, he sat at attention for this.

Leliana sighed. "She means to, Caitlyn. She wants to. I beg your pardon, but I have told her what became of you and Anders—what the policies did to your family—and she was rightly outraged by it."

"It's all right," Caitlyn said. "If we're fortunate, a lot more people are going to know our story."

Leliana paused and raised her eyebrows in interest at that, but she did not interrupt her own answer. "And you know that, as Mother Dorothea, she allowed my old friend Sketch to remain free. She also knows the role that the apostate Morrigan played in helping Eliss—Lady Cousland to quell the Blight. She was one of her companions, an apostate from the Chasind. I... did not much like her... but she did save our lives more than once with her magic. And Justinia does not view the disaster of the Fereldan Circle as cause to crack down harder, as Meredith has apparently done."

"I sense a 'but' coming up," Caitlyn said darkly.

Leliana sighed again. "She has a controversial past, Caitlyn. She has served Andraste faithfully for years, but she is... colorful. Not exactly a bastion of perfect purity. She played the Game herself. And there are those who are already trying to cripple her with that. Of course... there are always self-righteous poseurs, even in the Chantry..."

Anders muttered something that sounded very much to Caitlyn like "Especially in the Chantry," but his voice was so low that she did not think Leliana heard it, to her relief.

"And since my past is even more 'dubious' in such a view, I have tried to keep my distance from her. I am Nightingale, the Left Hand of the Divine, and I try to keep this identity separate from Leliana, former bard, companion of Elissa Cousland."

Caitlyn leaned forward, rubbing her forehead miserably. "I understand," she croaked. "I understand that perfectly. People say things about me too, because I first arrived in Kirkwall from Ferelden with a child but not the child's father. I think most people have accepted the truth now that Anders and I are together... but I also suspect there are some who think, or want to think, that he isn't really Mal's father, and would use that lie against me if I... tried to advance myself farther."

Leliana gave her a glance of sympathy, but it did not last long. "That is the second time you have made an allusion of that sort," she said. "Do you intend... pardon me..."

"I have ambitions," Caitlyn managed. "I'm not comfortable sharing them openly, because of what would have to happen for them to be fulfilled... but rest assured of this. I also don't want to ascend to any post in a pool of blood. Certainly not by spilling it myself, or watching it be spilled when I could stop it." Maker help me, she thought. My chief ally in Kirkwall wants to incite mobs against a force of armed foreign soldiers whose society "converts" every dissident it can by force and kills defectors, and through his fool of a son, the Viscount is close to this.

But Leliana did not know the dark thoughts that were passing through Caitlyn's head. She just nodded knowingly at her words. "I understand. No more need be said about that, then. To return to your question about Justinia, she does wish to enact reforms, but she also is afraid to move too great a distance too soon, given the talk about her past. It would be better if a push for change emerged at another level."

"Understood," Caitlyn said, smiling again. "That's the plan."

There was a silence that lasted for nearly a minute before the awkwardness became too much for any of them to bear. Anders finally rose, his movements stiff and jerky, his expression as tense as Caitlyn had ever seen in a calm moment. "Well, I suppose that's it," he said bluntly. "Unless you want to talk to her alone."

Holy Maker, Caitlyn thought as the meaning of Anders' behavior all night finally hit her. It's a wonder he hasn't turned green!

"I would have nothing to say to her that you shouldn't hear," Leliana protested at once, rising to her feet as well.

He grimaced. "This is awkward... and I should return home anyway. I still practice healing first thing in the morning every day. I need to get some rest." Without waiting for either of the women to respond, he turned down the dark hallway, leaving his candle behind.

Caitlyn grimaced. "Don't feel bad about that, Leliana. I'll talk to him and reassure him."

"Oh, please do," Leliana said, her voice pained. "I would hate for my presence to come between the two of you, after everything you suffered."

"It won't," she reassured her. "He's jealous. He's never really had anyone to be jealous of before, so I haven't seen it... but that's definitely what it is. And I... am not exactly innocent of that myself in the past. Regarding him, after we met again here," she clarified. "Not you. I accepted your relationship with Lady Cousland once I heard about it." She laughed sadly. "I guess that's further proof that you were right that day about who really had my heart."

Leliana gazed sadly at her as they lapsed into silence again. The women stared at each other before the former bard spoke again. "I'm so, so sorry about everything that happened," she said softly. "I heard about your poor, sweet sister. I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have suggested that you wait to hear from me. If the messenger had reached Lothering before it was destroyed, my news would have been terrible anyway, and also false, and it would have been better if I had never urged you to wait for it."

Caitlyn closed her eyes. She had thought she had already had this out with herself, grieved, thought about every angle of this and how it might have been different, blamed everyone and listened to everyone blame themselves as well, and finally accepted that there was no way to ever know what would have happened if this or that detail had been different. She had thought that when Carver had departed for Vigil's Keep, they had finally exorcised the inclination to relive it and apportion blame. But she had never expected to talk with Leliana again until fairly recently, and this made her realize that there was still another person's perspective she had been missing all along in the horrible tragedy.

"It wasn't your fault," she said in a near-whisper. "My decision to stay was my own. And everyone in the family, Anders included, feels some guilt about what happened to Bethany. Probably even Mal," she said bleakly.

Leliana gazed back at her. "He remembers Bethany? That's good. I am glad."

"I don't know how clear his memories are," she whispered, "but Mother has painted her, and drawn her—drawn all of us—and we always try to talk about things that happened, so that he remembers those stories, at least, and has a picture of her face in his mind always." She breathed heavily. "I remember—vaguely—moving when I was about two and a half. That's how old he was, of course. It's possible to remember some things. I just hope that he remembers something about her other than her death. That's we're trying to do for him. Maybe... maybe the images of her in the Fade that he sees will help."

"I am sure they will," Leliana said reassuringly, "especially, perhaps, if he turns out to be a mage like his parents. Mages are said to have better memories because of the stronger connection to the Fade."

Caitlyn was silent.

Leliana, the former bard, instantly recognized the truth. "He is," she breathed. "You know already. He has already performed spells."

"You can't tell anyone," Caitlyn burst out pleadingly. "All right... I imagine Lady Cousland already knows, or suspects. She seems very clever, and Anders sends reports to her. But no one in the Chantry, not even Justinia! He could be taken from us if the wrong people learned!"

Leliana reached forward as if to touch Caitlyn, but she drew back before she did. "I will not tell a soul," she promised. "I understand what could happen, and I would not do that to anyone." She gave Caitlyn another regretful look. "Your poor family has suffered more than enough."

"I suppose you learned about Bethany from Elissa Cousland," Caitlyn said in a low voice, "and she from Anders."

Leliana nodded. "Yes. I was... very upset... when she wrote to me that the mage I had asked about in the Circle had survived after all, and that she was curious if I had asked on behalf of someone else in Lothering." She sighed. "I feared that your family had all perished at that point, since she knew that Anders had been looking for you throughout the Blight and carried your sister's ashes."

"I'm sorry. It seems that all of us had a thought like that at some point. Void take the Blight," she suddenly burst out in a savage fury. "It ruins so much. So many lives lost, so much needless pain and suffering!"

"She tells me that two more Archdemons sleep yet," Leliana whispered miserably.

Caitlyn gazed down at the floor. "I hope no one in this age has to deal with them," she said, meaning it. "Enough! I am glad that it brought you and her together... there must be other such stories of love found amid tragedy... but it's a curse otherwise."

"I like to think that those stories of love coming out of a terrible event—or accounts of hope rewarded, such as your and Anders' story, or hers and her brother's—are the hand of the Maker, making sure that even the very worst things in this world are not wholly absent of divine love."

"I... am not sure I can believe that always happens," Caitlyn said. "Sometimes an event is just horrible and nothing good comes out of it whatsoever, like the tragedy at the Fereldan Circle. But... perhaps in the bigger events, like a Blight, the scope is large enough that good things can happen to some people. I am glad that you found her," she said sincerely. "It hurt that day... but you were right. Something was waiting for both of us, and my sister's death doesn't lessen that. It was a horrible tragedy and neither of us would have missed out on finding our true loves if she had lived. We just have to keep living and remember those we've lost. That is one thing I've learned."

Leliana nodded. "You are right."

"I should go," she said. "Anders will be waiting for me at home."

The former bard laughed. "Yes, it seems that you will have to talk with him and reassure him!"

"He'll be fine," Caitlyn replied. "But yes. Do you—Maker, I didn't even think of this! Do you have a place to stay?"

"I have a room at an inn under a false name, and I am leaving for Highever at dawn tomorrow—in a private Cousland vessel," she said. "My presence here should remain a secret if all goes well. I will ride for Amaranthine after that."

"Well, safe travels to you," Caitlyn said, giving her a chaste hug. "I'm so glad that you could come and just... talk. And I will be sure to keep in touch with you about what happens here that Justinia may need to know about."


When Caitlyn returned home, she noticed that Anders was not in the sitting room. He had already gone to bed. Hoping that he had not also gone to sleep, she headed upstairs, resolving to bathe in the morning.

He was still awake, she saw, reading a book of magic by the runed lamp and trying not to scowl as she entered the bedroom. She instantly banished the thought of teasing him for his jealousy. It wasn't as if she had any right to chastise him for being jealous of a previous partner...

"Anders," she said, a wry half-smile forming on her face despite herself as she sat on the mattress. "It's fine, darling."

He closed the book and shelved it in the space of the headboard of the vast canopy bed. For a moment he gazed ahead—no, glared ahead—into space, but that moment passed and he turned to face her, most of the tension gone from his face. Sheepishness and defensiveness filled his features instead. "All right, I understand it now," he said. "I get it. I understand how you felt before. It really is different to meet and talk with a former partner of your lover... or spouse."

She climbed on the bed and approached him, cuddling him gently next to his right side. "That doesn't excuse how I acted that night. It was hateful and inexcusable and it was about more than simple jealousy... but let's not relive that."

"Well, you were also jealous of Isabela when you first met her and she burst out with that comment... and yes, I admit it, I understand that kind of jealousy now." He gazed at her, smiling dryly. His right arm snaked its way around her, and his gaze shifted to one that was much more possessive.

"We're committed now," she said gently, taking his left hand and fingering the ring she had given him, the enchanted ring that had once belonged to her father. "I trust you utterly—"

"And I trust you," he said in a soft voice.

"So there is no reason to fear the past." The future, on the other hand— She broke off that thought at once, not wanting to ruin the moment. She had plenty of experience with Anders in a passionate, possessive mood—albeit not because he was jealous of anyone else before—and she knew where it would inevitably lead. She definitely did not want that stopped.

He pulled her close, swinging her around and falling onto the pillows with her landing almost entirely on top of him. He kept her pinned with his arm around her back, raising her chin with his free hand until they were gazing into each other's eyes—but only for a second, as they both closed the gap in a deep, fiery kiss.

She let him hold her in place, enjoying the heat of his body so close to hers and the tight grip of his arm, and particularly enjoying what it meant right now—that he was holding her so firmly in part because he wanted to show her to whom she belonged. And he is mine too, she thought, managing to thread her fingers into his hair, mussing it thoroughly, tugging handfuls of it hard enough to show him to whom he belonged but not hard enough to hurt.

They continued the kiss until she realized that she was still wearing her day dress. He had shed his feathery coat and street clothes for his silky, comfortable house jacket and trousers—and from the feel of it, no smallclothes, she realized with a start—but she was fully clothed. "I need to get this off," she said, regretfully pulling away from him and sitting upright on the bed.

For a moment she thought he would lie on the pillow and watch her disrobe, but after merely a moment, he bolted upright and reached for the hem of her skirt. She had opened the high collar of the dress already, leaving the bodice draped loosely across her chest, and she was untying the silken rope belt around her waist. He huffed impatiently, waiting for her to do that, then lifted the entire dress over her head in a sweeping movement and tossed it aside, leaving her in a loose, bare-shoulder long-sleeved shift. She pulled this off before he could make work of it as he had done the overdress, then gazed at him in only her smalls, smiling knowingly.

"Go ahead," she urged him, surprised at how sultry her voice sounded. "Remind me I'm yours. You know you want to, my love. And I want you to."

A low, half-strangled growl escaped his throat. In the next second, he pushed her down hard on the mattress, almost knocking the breath out of her as she hit the pillows. He was on top of her almost immediately, untying the loose fabric belt around the waistline of his jacket as she slipped out of her smalls. It almost surprised her to realize that she was already hot and wet for him from merely the kiss and the anticipation. Almost.

He was perfect tonight, she thought, as he slid into her and moved tenderly but firmly. He was pressed very close against her, the angle creating added pleasure deep inside her with each motion, and he punctuated these with nips and kisses against her neck that were too hard, and which felt too purposeful, to be unintentionally so. When the first cry escaped her throat, the sound seemed to drive him wild. He increased his pace to a rhythm that rapidly sent her toward her peak—and brought more cries to her lips. In a few more minutes, they reached a shattering wave together, clinging, whimpering for each other, planting quick little kisses on each other's cheeks in rapid succession as they stroked each other's heated, rippling skin.

"I love you so, so much," she murmured as he rolled off her and she cuddled next to him.

"We have said it so many times now," he said, pulling her close under the covers and wrapping an arm around her, "but it's still true."