-chapter 5-

Precipice

Evelyn had never heard her brother swear so many times in a row before. Mother would have dragged him to his bedchamber by his ear if he even said Andraste in the wrong tone. Her heart began to pound, breaths coming quick and irregular as she contemplated what would happen when they were caught. Would they send her to the Chantry early? Or somewhere else, somewhere worse? Would she ever even see her family again? Her head began to swim with the lack of oxygen.

Max's hand landed, solid, on her shoulder. She looked up, locking her gaze with him and forcing herself to gulp down a couple even breaths. He wore his one-sided smile, eyes bright and genuine.

"Hey," he said, nudging her chin with his hand. "I've got this."

"You... you do?" Her voice shook with nerves, even now they could hear the clattering footsteps of armored guards growing louder.

"Hide under the table," He instructed, resolute. "As soon as they're out of here, get back to your room as fast as you can. I'll give 'em the run around and loop back to mine."

Evelyn started to protest but he cut her off.

"What are they gonna do to me anyway?" He smirked, ruffling her hair. "I'm Templar property."

Then he gave her shoulders a shove, pushing her under the table. Just as he did so, the main doors to the dining hall swung open. She scampered onto a chair, pulling her legs up and out of sight while keeping her head underneath the table. She was small enough that fitting into the space wasn't as uncomfortable as it could be. Hunkered there, breath held, she peered through the small gaps between the chairs and the table. Three men in suits of armor, who she could see only up to their gilded kneecaps, banged into the room and stopped abruptly. They stood silently for a moment, their minds slowed from ale and full stomachs.

"Oi! You're not meant to be here!" A booming voice shouted, after standing numbly for almost a full fifteen seconds. Max's laughter reached her ears, mocking.

"Did you want a piece of cake?" He asked, his tone conversational. She pictured him crossing his arms over his chest, raising one eyebrow at the giant of a man, the way he always did when Father was cross with one of them. "I'm afraid I've already eaten them all."

"You're coming with us, pipsqueak." Sneered another voice; a harsh, nasal one that grated on her ears.

"Actually, I'm a bit busy right now," Max responded. To any other observer it would seem like he was having fun teasing the men, but Evelyn knew it wasn't true. She could hear the tension rising underneath his playful air. "Would you mind coming back later?"

"Who have you brought with you?" Asked the same nasal voice, pointedly. With a pang of regret, Evelyn remembered the two plates and forks, still laid out on the table.

"Brought with me?" Max asked, incredulous. "Did you notice what hour it is, Ser?"

"Two plates," Spat the guard. "Means two kiddies. I'd bet my last Sovereign that sister of yours is around here somewhere."

He took a thudding step forward, and Evelyn's blood froze in her veins. Every muscle in her body was tensing up, ready to run, but Max was faster. He coiled and sprang backwards, leaping onto the table with a clamor that sent the dishes crashing to the floor.

"Get that boy, damn it!" Was the last thing she heard before all sound dissolved into the clanging of metal and heavy footfalls. She was stock still, wanting to move, body rebelling against her. She could feel her brother's light steps jostling her as he skipped across the table, effortlessly outpacing the clumsy brutes in their heavy plate.

The guards attempted to scramble up after him, but their armor was built for defense, and not grace. Ice shot through her as they pulled out the chairs across from hers, nearly crying with relief when they didn't crouch down and find her hiding place. One planted his foot on the polished wood surface of a dining chair and tried to haul himself onto the table, but the boots he was wearing found no traction; he slipped immediately, foot flying out from under him as he let out a warbling scream. His cry was cut off abruptly when the bottom of his chin slammed into the table, and he fell to the ground in a crumpled heap. Evelyn saw a seeping darkness begin to pool beneath his limp form.

"Sweet Maker!" Cried the last guard. His voice was slow and thick, like molasses, and tight with terror. She watched his feet as he stumbled back a few steps. "Colin!"

Max danced across the table so swiftly that Evelyn was immediately convinced she'd never won an honest race against him. She would have been irritated, if there was room in her chest for more than suffocating fear. His steps were soft and even as he ran the full length of the surface, heading for the side of the table closest to the servants' entrance. She realized his plan must be to lose them in the network of serving tunnels that looped through that wing, and her pulse picked up as he closed the distance.

The remaining guard who was not at a standstill stopped trying to claw his way onto the table. Instead, he turned and barreled himself towards the kitchen door at top speed, letting out a guttural roar. Max must have seen him coming too late; turned on his heel, ready to launch himself away, but he wasn't fast enough. Evelyn heard the crunch as the two collided, squeezing her eyes shut and cringing away.

She could hear Max crying out as they struggled, and it was all she could do to throw her hands into her mouth, biting down to avoid calling out to him. The noise of crashing steel and her brother's shouts continued, and she began to feel truly closed in by her hiding place. The hard wood of the table pressed against her head and neck, causing pain to throb down through her. Her resolve was weakening as the moment hovered there, stuck in place.

She began to feel sure that if she didn't do something, this horrible man was going to kill Max. She couldn't let it happen, she had to stop him from hurting her brother. Attempting to gather herself; she rubbed her face with her still chocolatey fingers, and realized it was wet with tears. Taking in a deep breath, she tried to make her legs move. She concentrated as hard as she could, willing them to unfurl from beneath her, but they would not. Panic rose up faster, forcing her breath from her lungs and causing spots to dance across her vision.

She was ready to scream in terror and defeat, a desperate attempt to cause a distraction, when she heard the guard let out a terrible howl of pain. He dropped Max, who landed on the ground where she could clearly see the fear etched on his face. He didn't look at her, but scrambled up and darted as fast as possible to the main doors. He ran right past the other guard, who was still frozen in place, not making a sound. He didn't even try to stop Max as he hurled himself through the wide-open double doors and fled down the hall.

"What are you doing?" Screamed the guard with the shrill voice who had just let go of Max. "Get after him!"

"Ser, I-" The other man's voice trembled. "I think Colin might be really hurt or... or dead. Shouldn't we go get help?"

There was no reply that Evelyn could make out. Instead, she heard rough breaths followed by a bellowing scream. She closed her hands over her ears too late, the sound causing a sharp ringing through her head.

She watched the floor as something small and shiny was dropped from above, clattering against the stone. Dark spots of blood splattered around the object as it landed. She squinted her eyes to make it out in the dim moonlight, and saw the bloody hook at the tip of a slender metal lockpick. In contrast to everything, she nearly laughed aloud. Her brother was nothing if not resourceful.

"If you're not going to follow that little shit," Seethed the first guard through a hiss of pain. "I fucking will."

She heard his stumbling footsteps as he rushed from the room after Max. The other guard stayed a moment longer, kneeling beside the man slumped on the ground. She held her breath, keeping as still as she could, but the guard was too blinded by his distress to see her crouched in front of him.

"Oh Andraste," He murmured to himself as he pressed his fingers to his friend's neck. "Oh no."

He scrambled backwards, pulling himself to his feet and running after the others. Evelyn stayed there, head aching where it was crammed against the table, alone in a silent room. The sudden quiet was so wrong; adrenaline pounded through her percussively.

Max had told her to go back to her room. She should listen to him, she knew. She knew it as she pulled her tiny legs out from under her, and finally emerged from beneath the table. She knew it even as she forced herself to run right past the man bleeding on the floor, following close behind the shouts and crashes. She kept following.

It was dark, but she knew this part of the castle well- these were the halls she walked daily. She sprinted down the wide corridor, past windows casting strips of moonlight against the stone walls. The paintings of her family that adorned them stared down at her in stark disapproval. Her ankles were screaming underneath her, but the pain blurred into the urgency of the moment; she didn't stop running, and they continued to carry her.

She heard the sounds of the chase growing louder, but couldn't see anything until she flew through another archway. Midway down the passage was the huge man, crisply outlined in his armor, running as fast as he could toward the darting shadow she knew was her brother. This was the hall that lead directly to the front entrance, which would be guarded and barred, and they were fast running out of options.

Max would have to change directions again if he had any hope of losing the guard. He threw himself hard to the left, shoving open a door and dashing through it. His pursuer had to fight momentum to change directions, his heavy armor weighing him down, and the distance between him and Max grew slightly. He scrambled to the door and forced himself through, following as fast as he was able.

Evelyn kept a careful distance between herself and the guard's back. It had occurred to her to make a noise, cause some sort of distraction to draw him away from Max, but she knew better than to try. Her big brother would never allow her to take the fall for him; she was honestly never sure how much of that was fueled by his protective nature and how much was stubborn pride, but it didn't matter. She kept herself quiet, and crept after them.

The door was one of many that opened to the massive courtyard. The thick night air and familiar smell of roses was so incongruous with the panic in her body that she had to shake herself back to the present. A shudder ran down Evelyn's spine, and she cast her eyes around to gauge the situation.

Max hadn't stopped running, he'd bolted across the garden and was making for the staircase that led to the battlements, guard hot on his tail. They sped up the stairs, taking them two or three at a time, the giant man creating a true racket as he crashed up the stone steps in his plate mail.

Thinking as quickly as she could, Evelyn made for one of the gardener's carts. It was full of soil and brightly colored flowers, and there was just enough room for her to tuck herself between it and the castle wall. She huddled there and watched, breath held, as they reached the top of the staircase and began to run along the ramparts.

It was obvious the guard was growing tired; Max was a small boy, and wasn't carrying his weight in steel around his shoulders. He was going to make it. All he had to do was loop the ramparts around the courtyard, get back down the stairs and out of sight, and he should be able to lose him. A smile was growing across her face as she watched her brother outpace the grown man. She couldn't help but be impressed; not that she would ever let Max find that out.

She had to press one hand tight over her mouth to keep the giddy laughter from bubbling up her throat, not wanting to blow her cover now that they were almost out of danger. She needn't have worried. Her eyes darted to the other end of the battlements, the direction Max was heading, and her smile froze.

She saw the Templars before he did, the embellished swords on their armor visible even in the low light. Six men in total; four in formation, trailed by one very distressed looking guard, and Father. Max noticed them approaching and blanched, swiveling midstep to face the first guard. He was trapped.

Evelyn bit down on her knuckles as she watched with mounting dread. It was clear Max was caught. He had nowhere left to run, and very little time left to make a decision. She expected him to give up- this would be the reasonable time to give up. He would be sent with the Templars immediately, but maybe she'd be allowed to visit? This train of thought halted in her mind when she realized she was wrong. Max had no intention of turning himself over.

Her heart plummeted into her stomach when she saw what he was going to do. She clenched her jaw harder on her hand and tasted the iron tang of her blood, trying not to scream after him. Max had lifted one foot onto the low wall that bordered the ramparts, and was pulling himself up. There was a tower that jutted up from the stonework there, slicing through the sky and ending in a needle point. He pressed his small body against the parapet, and she saw determination on his far away face.

He hooked one hand into a niche in the stone, and began to scale the tower wall. Max moved with a wirey kind of grace, all bundled energy wrapped into his childish form. He could climb trees twice as fast as her, reach the top and then scramble back down to help her up as well. He hauled himself towards the spire, using footholds and cracks in the wall to leverage his weight and move as quickly as possible. The guards, Templars, even Father, all stood with their mouths agape. No one dared to follow after him, so they simply watched with naked confusion as he drew closer to the tower's peak.

Max's tiny hand reached for the ridge at the roof's edge and wrapped around it, knuckles whitening. His other hand followed close behind, and he was hanging by his fingers, feet notched in the stone beneath him. He shifted his weight again, pushing all his force into his toes to propel himself up, up, and onto the roof.

He slipped. The crevice he'd tucked his toes into was unstable; it chipped beneath him, and his feet swung out backwards. He dangled by his fingers, legs battering uselessly against the wall for a moment, and then his hands gave way. His tenuous grasp on the roof failed, and he was falling, his scream ripping the night open. The guards and Templars snapped out of their reverie and rushed the stairs, stumbling over each other in a useless attempt to get to the bottom before the boy.

Crack.