It was unfair, Zevran knew, and bad mathematics to assert that most Fereldan children were, or had at some point, been possessed by a demon. He had seen plenty of demon-free children in this country, he must have. In passing, even, if not in great detail. Children were small and easy to miss, and that was undoubtedly why he hadn't noticed more of them.

Zevran's attempts at reasoning fell away like sugar beard in water as he stood watching the Warden speak to their second demonic child in a week– and their first demonic cat. The girl and the cat stood side-by-side in here, the bowels of her grandfather's laboratory, apparently having bypassed all of the ghoulish traps he had laid. The party had had no such luck, forced to vanquish each and every little thing that cropped up on the way down. Most of the creatures– wraiths, Rhodri had called them, were things Zevran hadn't heard of, let alone seen or murdered, and he envied the Zevran of a few hours before. Blissfully ignorant, and not liberally dusted in wraith ash.

The Warden surveyed the cat with a frown and folded arms. Sulzbacher's daughter had done very little talking, and what she did say involved outright refusing the Warden's gentle urgings to leave the laboratory without the cat– and the cat, it seemed, was stuck in one of Grandfather's traps.

"She won't go with you," the cat said smoothly. "And she won't listen to you either. Amalia loves only me, now. I'm her friend, and you are nothing but a stranger."

Rhodri squatted down until she was eye-level with the girl. "Your father is worried about you Amalia," she said gently. "He wants you to come upstairs to speak with him."

"I'm not leaving Kitty behind," she protested. "She'll miss me."

"Even if she missed you, a true friend wouldn't stop you from seeing your father when he was looking for you. Would you keep Kitty away from her mother or father?"

There was a flicker of… something, but it quickly gave way to a resoluteness that had the child turning to the cat, as if pleading with it to answer for her.

Kitty yawned and bowed forward in a long stretch.

"What did I tell you?" she asked boredly. "It seems we are at an impasse, so I'd like to suggest a compromise, of sorts."

Zevran stole a glance at Morrigan, whose eyes were rolling hard enough to pose a health risk, and stifled a snort.

"Release me, mortal, and let me have the girl. We will go to her father," Kitty heaved a sigh as she looked around her, "and leave this place forever."

The Warden raised an eyebrow. "That's hardly a compromise. You're offering us possession of a child in exchange for…?"

Kitty scoffed. "'Possession' is such a crude way of putting it. I merely wish to see the world through her eyes. Is that such a bad thing? I have no wish to harm Amalia."

"Darling demon," Rhodri said with a snigger, "the moment you annexe that girl, she is doomed to death. You both are! People recognise your kind from leagues away, and your would-be host is, by our standards, a frail one and easily killed by panicked villagers. All people of that age are."

"That," returned the cat nonchalantly, "is hardly a problem. I am strong enough for the both of us, and then some. She will be well protected with me."

"Well, no, she obviously won't," the Warden shrugged. "You don't seem to have grasped your situation, demon, so let me make things perfectly clear for you.

"You're trapped down here until someone releases you. Your would-be host will survive down here another two days at the very most, and not even her father was game to come down after her. We are your only hope, and we will not free you only for you to inhabit the body of a child. You are not the first demon we have killed, and you certainly won't be the last, so I'm afraid you aren't in a position to offer compromise."

"And what would you have me do?" the demon returned. "Release the girl and remain as a cat?"

Morrigan let out a testy groan. "Oh, if this pitiful brokering continues, we shall all die down here!" she snapped, striding to the front of the group. "Take the fool upstairs then, demon, if the Warden will not give up the girl. He is a full-grown man, and a mage."

"The girl's father?" Alistair shook his head. "We're really scraping the bottom of the barrel if that's all we can do here…"

"We have no lyrium left," Rhodri said after a moment. "And Jowan is in Redcliffe. A good parent would put themselves in harm's way for their child's sake." With a sigh, she looked over at Kitty. "Well, demon? In exchange for the girl, will you take an adult?"

The cat tsked. "You want me to believe you have an alternative lined up? That there is someone upstairs who will do as you say and simply offer themselves up to me?"

With another moan, Morrigan turned around and made for the way back upstairs. "Oh, very well. If it will end this ridiculous situation, I will get the man and you shall see for yourself." Her head was still shaking furiously when she turned the corner and disappeared from view.

A tense few minutes passed in her absence, and it was only when she returned with a blanched Sulzbacher that anything was said again.

Sulzbacher's gasp reverberated through the chamber. "Amalia, you're safe!" He made to run forward, only for Morrigan to snatch him by the collar of his shirt and pull him back and down level with her mouth. Zevran strained his ears as she whispered something to him, but from that distance, nothing was intelligible. Sulzbacher's face pinched into a grimace, but as he looked down at his daughter, who was watching him with an unnerving sereneness, he nodded.

"I feel him, but I do not see him," Kitty called out. "Bring him closer."

Morrigan made a point of waiting a moment before walking the man down to the back of the party. "I approach when it suits me, demon, and not before." Her voice was cool and clipped. "As you see, the man is here. Now, can we finally agree before we lose sight of what we came here for?"

Kitty sat down, her tail curling around her body to snake in between her front paws. "I release the girl, and you will free me from the trap so I can take the man instead?"

"Correct," the witch said smoothly.

"Mm. Then I will accept."

In a moment that was eerily familiar of the scenes in Redcliffe Castle, the child's head flew back like she had been struck across the face. She straightened up slowly, and when her eyes fell on her father, she ran straight into his outstretched arms. The man cried. The girl cried. Alistair cried. Even the dog looked overcome. Zevran fiddled with a dagger and blessed the Maker that Rhodri and Morrigan, at least, were nowhere near tears.

Better still, Morrigan made it clear she wasn't going to stand for much more of this. She poked Sulzbacher in the kidney with her staff. "We do not have all day, man. Release the girl and let us have done with this ridiculous affair."

The Warden put her head in her hands. "Morrigan," she lamented softly. "It's been difficult for them."

"'Tis difficult for me now," the witch retorted. "Sickening, really."

"No, no," the man choked. "It's all right." He took his daughter by the shoulders and put a step's distance between them. "I need you to go to one of the neighbours, butterfly. Will you do that for me?"

Alistair winced a little as the girl protested– refused– tearfully. She grabbed at Sulzbacher's shirt, clenching it in her fists, and let out a nerve-jangling scream as he gently pried her fingers loose.

Rhodri, who had quite predictably covered her ears and shrunk away, turned back to the scene when the noise had died down to sobs. With a small, sad smile, she bent down to eye level with the girl.

"Amalia," she said softly. "I'll take you upstairs. Will you walk with me?"

More sobbing, enough to make the child's entire body convulse. That was, presumably, a no. Another few fruitless attempts came and went (Morrigan's impatient sighs got louder each time) before Sulzbacher whispered something in the girl's ear and touched a finger to her head. Her body went limp in his arms, and he passed her to the Warden.

Zevran loved stories. However much of a little shit he was– and the whores never failed to remind him that he was one between smacks to the back of his legs– he and they both knew he'd behave decently enough with the promise of a story. Imaginations, gossip, old memories, anything would keep him out of trouble.

In a fit of undisclosed guilt after stealing Eilo's orange, Zevran had been good as gold for the entire week, and Cristofania hadn't missed the spate of exemplary behaviour. She had given him a flourished kiss on the forehead, leaving a scarlet lip-paint brand there, and guaranteed he'd have a thrilling tale on Saturday morning.

But the moment was here, and Cristofania, who could talk the legs off a chair, was silent as she combed his hair. His legs swung impatiently in the air under the vanity seat, far enough off the ground that he had to scramble to get up there in the first place. He tilted his head as much as he dared to catch Cristofania's eye in the mirror. She never looked up.

Her hand swatted him on the side of the arm when he tried it again.

"Don't," she said gruffly.

Zevran froze for a moment, and when Cristofania had taken a lock of hair to braid without another word, he let his shoulders fall into a slump. She was not one to be pushed in a bad mood, and disappointing as it was to go without the promised yarn, it was better than doing without and having a beating on top of that. He sighed and watched his reflection.

Cristofania paused. She looked up and into the mirror. Zevran's eyes darted between his own and hers, never settling until her expression softened.

"Sit up."

He did as he was told, and the braiding continued.

"There was once a boy named Zevran," she said after a moment.

Zevran sat up properly, with conviction, his chest swelling with excitement. The stories about him were always the very best.

"Hah. Nowyou're interested, hmm? Zevran, he was clever. Taught himself to read, learned all the bones of the body, and had something good to say about everything and everyone." Cristofania smiled. "And he was the second-fastest runner of all the girls and boys in the whorehouse."

He caught himself scowling at her addendum and gave her a sheepish grin. She snorted, took two braids, and deftly twined them together.

"Zevran was a naughty boy, too," she continued. "Being naughty was how he got ahead. He stole newspapers Cristofania hadn't finished reading, and so he learned to read. He ate food that wasn't his, and so he survived the grippe." The whore sighed. "But he thought he was cleverer than he really was. He stole an orange when he thought no-one was looking, but someone saw him."

Zevran's body seized up, skin already anticipating the stinging smack of an open palm.

It never came.

"They watched him from the shadows, thought he was clever, too. And then, one morning, they came and took him with them, and now he has to be as clever as he can with them. That's the end of the story, mi amorcito."

A chill came over Zevran as Cristofania's hands left his hair. Children left the brothel all the time, disappearing with strangers and not returning. But not him, never him. He was going to spend the rest of his life here, reading newspapers and fetching coffee and raking the leaves under the orange tree.

He twisted around on the seat. "I am going away?"

She pursed her lips and nodded once. "You are."

He shook his head frantically. "I'm sorry for stealing," he pleaded softly. Unexpected tears welled in his eyes. "I'll be good. I'll be so good."

Cristofania's thumbs wiped his cheeks dry. "No more of this," she said. Her face became impassive. "You'll be so good for them, and that's the end of it. Stop shaking your head, amorcito, or your braids will come out."

"I can go out and sell things," he said, the strain in his throat making his voice creak. "I am old enough to make money for us. I'll take a job, I'm fast, I'm–"

Her hand pushed him off the chair, and Zevran dropped to his feet. His knees slewed under the unexpected landing, and his stomach kept plummeting. Another nudge pushed him into motion.

"Please don't make me go," Zevran whispered. "I'll make it up to you. I promise. Why don't you want me to stay?"

Cristofania paused, opened the dresser drawer and took out the gloves she had been safekeeping– once his mother's, she had told him, and then would be his when the time was right. She took his hand and pressed them into it.

"We don't always get what we want, mi amorcito," she replied simply. She pointed at the gloves with her nose. "Hide those, and be careful."

There had been something unexpectedly pleasant about watching the Warden gently bear the– sleeping, Sulzbacher had advised an appalled Alistair– child out of the laboratory and away to safety. Rhodri had spoken often enough about her own students in the Circle ('gushing' came closer to it, but that was by the by). Every story, every celebration of one or the other's achievements was reinforced at least once by a credo that children were to be treated with care and tenderness. Really, it was hardly a surprise that she moved so cautiously, steadying the child's head with one tender hand like the skull was made of glass as she walked.

Someone had carried him once. A flicker of soft, dark arms bringing him up off the ground lingered in Zevran's mind, too vivid to discount as a dream. He shelved the thought with a curled lip, seizing on the opportunity to throw his head back in a laugh as the Warden reappeared and Morrigan, with a loud cackle, directed a blast of fire directly at the cat.

A second, much more genuine howl of laughter took him as Rhodri let out a shriek of disbelief* and dove into the erupting fray. The cat's body was cast aside like an old coat as a large, purple woman, delightfully voluptuous and nearly nude, emerged from within. And with a pair of gleaming black horns, too, no less. How she had fit in there was a mystery for the ages, but what a welcome change of scene!

The demon, greatly outnumbered, died quickly, and appeared to have taken the cat with her, since it never awoke again. The Warden turned to Morrigan and squinted at her, but before anything could be said, the witch jabbed Sulzbacher again and pointed at the exit.

"Right," Sulzbacher said. He nodded fervently and rubbed at the spot on his back her staff had poked– for the second time, no less. "Yes. of course. A deal's a deal." He strode to the front, far away enough to avoid a third prodding, and led the party upstairs.

"What deal, then, Morrigan?" Rhodri enquired on the way up.

"The deal, Warden, that secures us the golem," the witch replied crisply. "That fool merchant gave the wrong words to activate it, and the one who knew the words was about to be offered up as fodder?" She shook her head. "The man agreed to pretend he would offer himself up to the demon, and when the girl was free, we would strike. 'Tis a little embarrassing that trickery never occurred to you, as though it would be unthinkable to use on a demon! Well for you, then, that someone who knows better travels with you."

A blush crawled up Rhodri's neck and into her cheeks, and her head dipped briefly before she forced herself tall and upright again. She nodded and cleared her throat.

"I've always been glad that you came with us, Morrigan," she said earnestly. "But you really did save the day today. We couldn't have done it without you. Thank you."

Morrigan's face twisted into a suspicious frown. She pursed her lips and picked up her speed, leaving the Warden and Zevran alone behind her as she walked alongside a suddenly-jumpy Sulzbacher.

Upon leaving the building, Zevran was delighted to note that the rain had stopped, and the flaming house had been put out. The townspeople had been quick to remove the bodies of the other locals, and upon Rhodri's urging that they leave handling the Darkspawn to the Wardens, they accepted and retired into their homes. What else could they do, really?

Except, of course, for the cobbler, who had presented herself when Rhodri asked the crowd about the possibility of acquiring boots in Honnleath. She was a short, sinewy human with thin red hair, donning a pair of eyeglasses that flopped on the bridge of her nose whenever she nodded. After some words with her and Alistair, she guaranteed that they would both have a pair the day after tomorrow, and refused to accept payment for it.

Sulzbacher, upon supplying them with the correct words to the golem, went in another direction with the neighbour Rhodri must have palmed the girl off to. Morrigan wasted no time, taking the control rod from Alistair and marching over with the Warden to the little closed-off area where the golem stood.

She held the rod up, pointing it at the thing's enormous, dark grey head. "Dulen harn," she said, her diction slow and precise.

Zevran and Alistair drew up beside them. In the golem's shoulders sat a smattering of small crystals, and they, along with the runes engraved into its head and collar, flared in a persistent, white glow.

Morrigan sighed. "'T'was responding in much the same way now as before, though the glow is new." She tsked at the Warden. "'Tis defective. We should be grateful, I suppose, that we did not pay for the–"

Her words were drowned out by the sound of rock crunching on rock as the golem's head began to twist and face forward. Zevran quietly cursed himself for being surprised when the Warden's arms went out to push him, Alistair, and Morrigan behind her. Morrigan promptly swatted the Warden's hand away and stood her ground, making an audible 'ugh' when Rhodri, undeterred, stepped in front of her.

The golem's fists were freed next. Left, then right, and then its torso was given a brisk shake, sending bits of stone and dust everywhere.

And then it… groaned? Not an unreasonable noise to make, Zevran decided, after holding the same position for some time.

It towered a good three heads over Alistair, the tallest of them, and eyed them with what seemed to be unimpressedness.

"Well," it said after a moment, its voice deep and accent impossible to guess. "I knew someone would find the control rod eventually." It glanced between the witch and the Warden, and groaned again, much more miserably now. "Oh, and it is another mage. Two mages. Just my luck."

"You might be thankful anyone awoke you at all, golem," Morrigan retorted icily. "I can easily put you dormant again and give the birds something to perch on."

The golem snorted. "It thinks I should be thankful?" it echoed mockingly. "What a surprise. And a threat to leave me out to the pigeons again, too. Charming! It forgets that I can be left here for ninety years and wait for the next person to free me, long after it is dead in the ground."

"Right," Rhodri quickly stepped forward, holding her palms aloft. "Let's keep this friendly, shall we? Do you have a name, ser?"

"Perhaps, though I have been called 'golem' for so long I might have forgotten it." It waved a hand. "'Golem, fetch me that chair.' 'Do be a good golem and crush that insipid bandit.' Oh, and let's not forget 'Golem, carry me. I tire of walking!'"

The Warden raised her eyebrows. "That's a rude way of addressing someone. People should use the name you give them."

"True enough." It looked around. "Though I have not heard much of anything for some time now. There was quite some screaming a few days before, and since then the Darkspawn have been prowling. I never thought there would be something less interesting than watching these insipid little villagers go about their lives, but there it was."

Alistair squinted. "The villagers had no idea they were being watched? Creepy."

"Hah! And I suppose if it were in my position," it waved an enormous finger at Alistair, "it would simply spend the next thirty years sleeping and pretending the birds were not fouling its arms?"

The Templar's face erupted in a blush, and he acknowledged the remark with a mumbled 'good point.'

The golem ignored the half-apology and turned to the mages again. "It does still have the rod, doesn't it? I'm awake, so it must."

Morrigan held it up and wobbled it demonstratively with her fingers. "It does," she replied. "Right in its hand."

"How strange. I… see the rod, but there is no urge to do anything it tells me." It let out a small, bemused chuckle. "Well go on, then, mage. Order me to do something."

The witch smiled wryly. "As you wish." She pointed at the Templar. "Attack Alistair."

A protective shield went up around Alistair before he could finish opening his mouth to begin his noisy protest.

"Unacceptable!" Rhodri barked angrily. "We do not prompt attacks on–"

"Calm yourself, Warden," Morrigan cut across her smoothly. She gestured at the golem. "As you see, nothing is happening. Had it moved to crush him, I might have prompted it to abort the attack."

True enough, the astonished golem stood where it had awoken, not so much as turning its head to look at the person it had been ordered to squash.

"I don't care, Morrigan," Rhodri growled. "Things can go wrong, and it's not worth the cost if they do. If you cannot restrain yourself, then you will stay at the camp from here on out."

While the witch occupied herself with an eyeroll, the golem spoke again. "There was no compulsion," it uttered softly. "No urge at all to carry out its command. So the rod is… broken? I have free will, then?"

Morrigan shrugged. "It would seem so. And what will you do now, then? Go on a killing rampage? You already killed your master, after all."

Rhodri tsked exasperatedly. "There will be no more killing!"

"No, there won't," the golem shrugged. "Except for birds, of course. Though… did I really kill my master? I cannot say I recall. I hope I did, he was a cruel brute, but unless I am provoked, I have no intention of killing anyone else."

Zevran huffed a small, dark laugh and nodded appreciatively at the golem. It was an odd thing, feeling a spark of kinship with the talking rock, but odd things were starting to become a constant in life now.

"... What do you intend to do, then?" Alistair asked after a moment.

The golem sighed. "I am not sure. I barely remember my life before I came to this village. I am not even sure what lies beyond it. I find myself at a bit of a loss, truthfully. But it came and awakened me. Did it intend to do something with me?"

Rhodri shook her head. "Not if you were sentient. If you were only a machine, we would have taken you with us to help us fight the Darkspawn, but you have a mind of your own and it's not for us to tell you what to do. I doubt you're welcome in Honnleath any longer, though, so I don't suppose staying is an option."

"Hm!" It hummed in surprise. "That is refreshing to hear. Amusing, even, since the only thing I can think to do is go with it."

Alistair's face screwed up in concern. "Is that a good idea, really? It's pretty dangerous-looking…"

The golem pointed at Alistair's sword. "And I suppose I am to presume that it uses that sharp thing on its hip for, what, to cut a cake?"

"I kill darkspawn," he returned hotly, "not my friends."

It shrugged again. "How does it know to trust anything else that doesn't have a control rod?"

Rhodri put her hands together and opened them out. "Let's talk a little about what my party and I are doing, and our rules, and you can see if you like them or will abide by them, yes?"

A discussion, nearly identical to the offer the Warden had made to Zevran, followed. There were negotiations about pay (the golem initially had refused a salary until, after a little coaxing and explaining from Rhodri, decided to accept the money for the purpose of acquiring precious stones), accommodations, and the strict no-gratuitous-harming policy (relaxed a little to allow for the murder of offensive pigeons and other birds).

By the end, though, the matter was settled and introductions were made. The golem's name, revealed with absolutely no irony whatsoever, was Shale.

§

The additional day in Honnleath passed far more speedily than anticipated, if only because there was no shortage of work to be done. The cobbler and her apprentice daughter had worked with barely a pause while the Wardens (along with Zevran and Leliana; the other party members declined to assist) felled and hauled timber for the repair of the torched house. Jeppe, who was ecstatically applying his hunting instincts to find throwable sticks, had become the delight of the village children, and fetched to his heart's content.

The work drew to a close shortly before the sun set, and the exhausted members shambled back to camp (the shoes would be ready to pick up early the next morning). When Rhodri had downed her second bowl of stew, she addressed the party.

"Your thoughts, everyone, if you please." She waited until all eyes were on her to press on.

"There is nothing more to be done further west of here for now, so we should revisit that sometime early next year." A hand dropped into whichever Void she kept the map in, and she folded it out and held it up. "In the interim, I propose we go back along the Imperial Highway to Denerim to visit Brother Genitivi about the Ashes–"

"That's longer than going up through the Brecilian Forest, though, Rhod, isn't it?" Alistair asked through a mouthful of bread. He waved the cob in the direction of the map. "Be a bit quicker to go via South Reach, there."

Rhodri nodded. "It is, yes, but we also need to recruit the help of the Circle of Magi, so I propose we pass by Lake Calenhad. It's only a few days' extra journeying, and would save us having to make the trip there especially later on."

He shrugged. "Can't argue with that. I'm for it."

"Right! Great!" She bounced on her toes and looked around at the others. "What does everyone else think?"

The responses, ranging from excited nodding to a single, stiff inclination of the head, signalled the unanimous acceptance of the new path. The Warden beamed, re-folded the map, and sat back down.

"The best part, of course," she said to everybody and nobody in particular, "is that you'll get to meet my friends and my students and… oh-h-h-h!" Her hands pattered on her thighs. "This is going to be marvellous!"

With the same look of disgust, Morrigan and Sten left the campfire and pursued their own interests. Shale, though expressionless, stomped away and took refuge from talk of mages further up on the hill.

Rhodri didn't seem bothered by the mass exodus. She turned to the Templar, Leliana, and Zevran, watching them with a broad grin.

"Mmm, they're not so fond of the Circle or mages, I know, so maybe it'll be just us four." She rocked back and forth on the log, her eyes shining like quicksilver. "Not to worry, I think we'll have enough fun on our own, sic? The children will run us off our feet, and my friends will bombard you with questions– ah!" Rhodri snapped her fingers. "We should stop by Redcliffe and get some presents for them. Some baked goods, maybe, since Circle mages aren't allowed possessions… I'll have to ask Sten where he bought those cookies…"

Author's note: In case you were wondering what a shriek of disbelief from Rhodri might sound like, I can advise that picturing a very forceful, anime-esque "EHHHH?!" is pretty well on the money.

Language note

Mi amorcito (Antivan)- 'my little love.' Can be used on male children and adults.