Chapter 51

"Where will you go, little one,

Lost to me in sleep?

Seek truth in a forgotten land

Deep within your heart."

—excerpt from Mir Da'len Somniar, a traditional Dalish lullaby

Líadan

Líadan stood outside the small room that Cáel, Cianán, and Ava currently shared at the Amell estate. Next to her, Morrigan leaned against the wall as they both shamelessly eavesdropped on Varric telling a bedtime story to the three children.

The story had an inauspicious beginning, in Líadan's opinion.

"Once upon a time," said Varric, obviously aware of being overheard, "there was a Dalish princess…"

Líadan rolled her eyes.

"You do not approve?" asked Morrigan.

She raised a skeptical eyebrow at her friend. "Are you going to tell me that you dreamed of being a princess when you were a little girl?"

Morrigan gave her a vague smile, the one she had when she delighted in upending a person's expectations of her, whether or not if what she said held truth. "Perhaps."

"Maybe you should have gone to Orlais, then. I'm sure you could find a way."

"There is much influence to be had there."

When Líadan glanced over at her again, Morrigan's secretly pleased smile had vanished. "I wasn't serious."

"No?" asked Morrigan. "I will admit, neither was I, not when I first contemplated where I would go after I was done here. Yet, once the idea began to take hold in my mind, I could not reject it out of petty dislike. I have heard rumors, even during my short time here, that point to my particular talents being of some use in Orlais. Power rests there, if I take advantage. I believe I may. That power would help me search for the truth that I must find."

"What truth?" Líadan frowned, and not just because Morrigan would be leaving. The truths she hunted affected them all.

"My mother, of course. Not knowing her true nature puts me at a disadvantage I can ill afford."

"It won't kill you to admit to curiosity," Malcolm said from the other side of the doorway, the position he'd taken to eavesdrop with them.

"There is a certain curiosity, yes. 'Tis not my primary motivation."

He let out a quiet scoff. "I never said it was, Overly Defensive Witch of the Wilds."

Morrigan pointedly swapped her attention from Malcolm to Líadan. "And you? Your intention is to return to Highever, I presume?"

"Yes. Soon. Very soon." Not soon enough, in Líadan's opinion, but they couldn't leave until everything was either settled or on its way to becoming settled. Once they left, they didn't want to come back, and leaving anything undone wouldn't help with meeting that goal.

"And thus our paths will diverge once again."

Líadan cast a look toward the room behind them. "The children will miss each other." And they would. Cianán had been as much a brother to Ava as he was to Cáel, even though he and Ava didn't share any blood in common. The three had struck up a fast friendship, despite Cianán's relative inexperience in dealing with other children. But the separation couldn't be helped. Morrigan had leads she needed to follow up on to keep Cianán out of Flemeth's hands, while Cáel and Ava had their own lessons to learn for the lives they would inevitably lead. Still, the truth of the matter did little to soften the sting of separation.

"Perhaps," Morrigan said slowly, as if testing out an idea, "perhaps, this time, the separation needn't be for so long. Not when the distance between us will not be as great."

"The children would like that," said Líadan. She did not say that she would like that, as well. That had rarely been the way between them.

"They would, indeed," said Morrigan, as much an acknowledgement of their friendship as she would give. Neither Líadan ˙nor Malcolm pushed for more. They understood.

In the morning, Morrigan was gone.

No one was surprised, least of all Ava, who announced at breakfast that Cianán had told her goodbye in the Fade. "He said he can't come find me all the time because it would be too risky," she said, oblivious to the incredulous stares from the adults around the table at the blitheness of her tone, as if speaking to someone in the Beyond who wasn't a demon in disguise was perfectly normal. "But he said his mother told him he could this time." Then her brow furrowed and she looked at Líadan. "He said he found you, but he couldn't talk to you. Something was in the way."

Líadan hadn't thought to ask Emrys if he could find her in the Beyond like he'd been able to before—before Tranquility and before its cure.

The idea that something about her presence in the Beyond had changed sent a cold spike of fear through her heart. This new discovery, coupled with her inability to touch her magic, boded more trouble than either change would have alone. "It's possible it has something to do with me not being able to use my magic." Then she shook her head at the dishonesty of the statement. "No, forget using it. I can't even find it."

Malcolm frowned. "Are you even a mage anymore?"

"I don't know." She should be happy. Likely, under any other circumstance absent of the danger inherent in this one, she would have been. "If my magic was entirely gone, I'd still be…" She would be dead by now, because between Malcolm, Morrigan, and Marian, she wouldn't have been left to the living death of Tranquility for very long. No. She remembered, there had been other options, but they'd been rejected, even by Wynne, because taking those options would've required her to remain Tranquil for a longer period of time, resulting in a longer period of being shattered if any of the choices had worked. Absent of emotion, the Tranquil stranger wearing her face had believed Wynne's choice of sacrifice to be illogical and ultimately wasteful. There had been other paths to a cure, despite how much more time they would have taken. The best outcome would have been both Wynne and Líadan alive, the consequent additional hardship of Líadan's recovery a calculated risk. "I wouldn't be here," she said out loud.

On the other side of Tranquility, saddened yet grateful for what Wynne had chosen to do, Líadan knew the Tranquil's choice to be the wrong one. Her recovery had been difficult and it still was, and there had been times when she'd believed she would never reclaim herself. If she'd been Tranquil for weeks longer, there wouldn't have been enough left of her to hold the pieces of her former self together.

Still, the new development frightened her, and her frown deepened. "Do you think it's possible that Wynne's spirit stayed? That it's part of me, like it had been with her?"

"It kept her alive. That's why it had to stay in Wynne's body," Malcolm said after a moment of thought. "It wouldn't be doing the same for you." Meal forgotten, he tapped one of his fingers on the table. "But, even if it isn't part of you, it might be hanging around you in the Fade, protecting you like Wynne had done for us while she was alive." He glanced at Ava. "Did Cianán mention anything about a spirit?"

Her face scrunched in thought. "Not specifically. But, I could look," said Ava. "I hadn't thought of trying, but I can, easy enough."

Easy for her, Líadan thought as she tried to keep from glaring, not out of anger, but out of fear. Ava's ability wasn't easy for Líadan to fathom, nor was it easy to stop being afraid for her daughter's well-being in the Beyond. So much could go wrong, and she was so young. "Absolutely not."

Though clearly discouraged, she didn't argue. She did, however, try to circumvent Líadan's unwillingness to grant permission. "If I see Cianán again, I can ask him. Or," she said slowly, "I could ask your grandfather."

"And maybe the Wardens will take to the air on griffons again," said Líadan, unwilling to bend. She appreciated her daughter's eagerness to help, but she refused to put her in danger again.

Ava scowled. "You could've just said no."

"Yet, you knew the answer before you asked."

"If anything," Alistair said after some hesitation, "it does bear watching."

"Your templar is showing," said Fergus.

Alistair rolled his eyes. "It's common sense! I didn't say that she needs to have a Chantry-trained templar with her at all times—and I really don't think poor Thierry would be up for that job ever again—just that we have to watch it. Keep our minds on it instead of setting it aside."

"It isn't something that I'll be forgetting anytime soon," said Líadan. It didn't help that Alistair was very right, and that Ava's threat of an offer to ask Emrys was a good idea. Had Emrys been there, Líadan would've asked him. While he'd mentioned wanting to speak with the spirit while she'd been at the Dalish camp, he hadn't said anything more on the matter. Since he'd remained silent about it, she'd assumed the matter over. Either he hadn't thought he'd needed to talk to the spirit after all, or had decided that he needn't bother her with whatever knowledge he'd managed to pry from the spirit. Before, she hadn't felt much of a drive to finding out the truth due to her being grateful about being cured. Part of her had believed that questioning anything about it would somehow negate it. Rationally, she knew it wouldn't, but her mind wasn't much a fan of the rational or logical as of late.

Once they got to Highever and, more importantly in this one case, once Emrys and the clans got to Highever, she'd make it a point to ask him. It wasn't something that could go unanswered, not when a spirit of the Beyond was involved. Before then, there wasn't much she could do to solve the mystery, not if she wanted to keep her daughter out of danger.

When Hildur had appeared at the Amell estate before the midday meal—ostensibly looking for Nathaniel and yet not surprised at all to learn that he'd gone with Morrigan without telling anyone—and then loudly asked Malcolm and Líadan when they'd like to return to Ferelden, Líadan could've hugged her. As it was, she couldn't hide her smile at the prospect of returning to the place she'd finally acknowledged as home. That, and she would never return to this cursed, infernal city ever again, not even on threat of death or orders from Hildur. She would rather walk naked into the Frozen Sea than return here. Not that Marian's estate and the library they were meeting in weren't lovely, but the problem was that they were located in Kirkwall, and that was a non-negotiable negative.

"Tomorrow," said Malcolm, after seeing Líadan's reaction. "I'd say today, honestly, but it's too late in the day."

Varric had spent most of the day in Marian's library going over the Amell estate's financials and was still doing so while cursing at both the books and anyone who dared to interrupt. He wasn't, however, beyond interrupting himself. "You're lucky Rivaini wasn't here to hear you say that, Princeling," he said without looking up from jotting notes. "She'd take that as a challenge."

Líadan couldn't decide if that was a good thing or a bad one. Getting home earlier would be nice, but Isabela's adventures could sometimes be a bit much.

There was a shuffle outside, stomping, and then Marian burst through the doorway into the library. "I heard you're leaving. You're leaving?"

Eavesdropping was a veritable plague in the Amell household.

"You knew we were," Líadan said to her.

Marian sighed. "I know. It just feels like it's so soon." Sebastian, who'd followed her, albeit at a normal pace, nodded his agreement.

Líadan felt no compulsion to withhold her true feelings on the matter. "Not soon enough."

"Right, it's different for you." She sighed. "You know what? I think I'll go with you. After everything both of you did to help, I owe it to you to see you make it to Ferelden alive."

Malcolm frowned. "Starkhaven—"

She waved him off. "This is bigger than Starkhaven."

While Líadan wasn't the most politically savvy, even she knew enough to know that was a lie. "No, it isn't, but it's a nice gesture."

"Besides," said Malcolm as he ignored Marian rolling her eyes, "you and Sebastian holding Starkhaven will strengthen Ferelden's position, provided Sebastian's on our side."

Sebastian seemed startled at first. Then he answered, "Mages are the Maker's children as much as any other person. They should be cherished as we all are."

Malcolm blinked at Sebastian's earnestness, as if he hadn't expected the answer. Líadan certainly hadn't, not with how, even now, Sebastian clung so tightly to the Chantry. But Sebastian wasn't much of a liar, and his treatment of mages thus far had been exemplary, his arguments with Anders aside.

After a moment, Malcolm said, "I suppose that unequivocally answers that. You two keeping Starkhaven will be another ally for my brother. With Orlais in turmoil with its civil war, and with templars and Seekers separating from the Chantry, maybe violently, it's an alliance that'll be sorely needed. If anything, they'll do something to keep a semblance to what the world was before it got tipped over. But you really don't need to go with us. Besides, I'm pretty sure Hildur could kick the ass of anyone who tries to stop us."

"Ha!" said Varric. "Nobody's going to believe anything your Warden-Commander does when I write this story."

"It won't be nearly as farfetched as you wrote mine, Varric," said Marian. "And yet, people seem to think it's true, based on all the questions they ask me." She shook her head and returned her attention to Malcolm. "Either way, it's actually Isabela who's bringing you back, and since she's our ride to Starkhaven, it means we're along for the trip whether you like it or not."

Líadan rolled her eyes; Marian was a good friend, which meant she could take the honesty. "You could've just started with that."

"I could, yes, but it isn't nearly as fun."

"You see what I grew up with?" said Bethany.

"It's a miracle in of itself that you turned out as sweet as you are, Sunshine," said Varric.

Marian narrowed her eyes at him. "You're as bad as Sebastian with your words, and by 'bad' I really mean 'smooth' and you better not be chatting up my sister."

"Wouldn't dream of it," Varric said and put his nose back in the ledger.

Líadan wished she could take all her Kirkwall friends out of Kirkwall, but some would always stay, as Marian lamented. Aveline's appointment to viscount meant she'd been sentenced to stay—much to Seneschal Bran's eternal exasperation—and Varric had offered to stay to help her in his own way, in a very unofficial manner. Carver had chosen to remain on at the Gallows under the command of Knight-Commander Cullen, who'd in turn promoted Carver to Knight-Lieutenant, which, according to Marian, hadn't gone to his head at all because there wasn't any way his giant head could get any bigger, except that it had and did Líadan want a brother?

She'd declined Marian's offer. Fergus and Alistair as her brothers-in-law were quite enough.

Everyone else had elected to leave Kirkwall around the same time as Marian. Fenris had plans to stay on with Isabela, both the ship and the woman. Marian and Sebastian were going to Starkhaven, Merrill had left with the Suriel clan, and Anders was beyond anyone's reach.

And so it happened that Líadan wasn't terribly broken up to see Kirkwall growing smaller behind them as Isabela's ship headed out of the city's harbor. Cáel and Ava were thrilled. They showed their enthusiasm by jumping up and down and cheering as the ship slipped through the mouth the harbor and entered the waters of the Waking Sea. Their obvious happiness at leaving the city had more than a few of the crew chuckling as they went about their work.

The ship hugged the Free Marches coast for a short while as the sailors scrambled to and fro across the deck and up into the rigging. Those on the deck had started hauling up another sail—Líadan couldn't remember the proper name for it—and singing a song as they did. The lyrics were only vaguely familiar to Líadan, and since she didn't have much of an ear for the various songs the sailors sang to keep rhythm as they worked, she quickly put it out of her mind. She had better things to do, such as watch from the stern of the ship as the last buildings and cliffs of Kirkwall disappeared entirely.

Malcolm, however, was perturbed and scooted closer to her so he could share. "You recognize that chantey?"

"The what?"

"You know, the song the crew's singing."

"Why didn't you just call it a song before?"

He let out a half-frustrated sigh. "Because they're called sea chanteys. Or chanteys. Or shanties. One of those, but not a plain old song." Then he shook his head. "Either way, did it sound familiar at all to you?"

She frowned. "No. Should it?"

"Does 'The Soldier and the Seawolf' mean anything to you?"

"Oh!" She nearly clapped her hands together. "It's the song about your parents!"

Malcolm's hands shot out and grabbed Líadan's, as if that could quiet her. "You want the whole ship to know?"

"Malcolm. If they know the entire song, then they know your half-kept secret."

Strolling by, Isabela hummed her agreement.

Malcolm paled.

When Isabela smirked, Malcolm's eyes widened.

"You've known?" he asked.

Isabela halted her stroll and spun on her heel, looking incredibly pleased with herself. "Why do you think I offered my services in West Hill, sweet thing?"

He pointed at her. "You made it sound like something else, like you usually do. You mentioned my looks! Mine and everyone else's!"

She'd yet to drop her smirk, and it spread into a lascivious smile. "Those were a bonus. Rather enjoyable ones." When Malcolm's only reply was to stare again, Isabela laughed.

While Líadan didn't exactly want to save Malcolm from an awkward situation of his own creation, her curiosity demanded clarification. She glanced from Isabela, who hadn't stopped being amused, to Malcolm, who stood rooted in place by his forming horror. "So, this really is about the song that you and Fergus refuse to recite?"

He grimaced. "That one, yes."

Isabela gave a noise of disgust. "You haven't taught it to her? For shame. And I take it you haven't taught your children, either?"

"Maker, no!" said Malcolm. "No! They'd sing it all the time."

"You're denying them their raider heritage. A travesty. They'll need to know all the popular chanteys if they're going to learn to sail properly." She motioned toward Cáel and Ava, the two of them paying rapt attention to the busy sailors. "Now, let's put those children of yours to work while we teach them a song about their ancestors." Not bothering to wait for their assent, Isabela headed toward the children, talking as if Malcolm and Líadan would naturally follow. "Without the guidance of the Seawolf, someone has to instruct them about being proper raiders. Who better than the Queen of the Eastern Seas?"

"This is worse than it should be only because you might have a point," Malcolm said with a grumble. "Wait, no! They shouldn't be taught raiding. We shouldn't agree to this at all."

"It won't be work for them," said Líadan, already resigned to the two children picking up some interesting skills. "They'll likely enjoy it."

Isabela flashed her ever-wider smile over her shoulder, her large hoop earrings glinting in the sun as they swung to and fro. "You see? It's in their blood!"

When the coastline dimmed behind them, the shifting winter wind swept over the bow to nip at any exposed skin. The same wind tore at the sea, pushing the water into heaving swells.

"By the way," Malcolm said when he noticed Líadan fighting her own heaving, "the Waking Sea gets a little choppy during the winter."

She rolled her eyes. This wasn't something she needed right now. What she needed was her stomach to stay inside her body, for it to not struggle to get out, to have taken one of the seasickness potions Bethany had yet again provided, and to sleep through the rest of the trip. The last two parts, she needed especially. Malcolm's extraneous, yet meant to be helpful words, decidedly did not help, and she found it hard to be nice. "I never would have noticed."

"It's also cold."

Líadan gave him a flat look and then resumed her wistful thoughts about the potions sitting safely and unused in their cabin. "I'm going below." Then she waved a hand toward the rest of the weather deck. "You go do sailing things. I can't stand to see you not be sick and to hear you be so cheerful and chatty in these conditions." From their positions standing close to the bow with Isabela, Cáel and Ava also did not appear to have the decency to look the slightest bit ill. They did, however, hunch into their cloaks to ward off the cold. "You or them."

He tilted his head as he thoughtfully regarded the children. "You think we'll be able to get them to sleep tonight?"

"No. Have fun with that."

And he would, she knew very well. Despite the cold weather rapidly descending into frigid weather and the rough seas that accompanied the chill, Malcolm and the children's eyes still lit happily when they gazed out at the white-capped water or up at the wind-filled sails.

Before she could get away, Malcolm grinned at her and pulled her into an embrace. If her seasickness wasn't commanding otherwise, she would've been perfectly happy in the warmth of his arms, even while standing on the cold deck of a ship. With him there, it was home enough.

A month after they'd returned to Highever, they heard about a few other Circles rebelling, like what had happened in the White Spire. Then the mage rebellion simmered when outright, large-scale civil war fully erupted in Orlais, spilling from skirmishes into protracted battles in the Exalted Plains. As rumors of the dead rising from the ground of the Plains found their way to Ferelden, Fergus and Meghan's daughter was born, allowing those at Highever to put Orlais and its troubles out of their minds. Then half a year after Malcolm, Líadan, and their children returned to Denerim, they received news that the Circle of Magi in Diarmuid had been annulled. The annulment in Rivain tipped the remaining Circles into open rebellion: Perendale, Hasmal, Markham, each of the Circles rising up in turn, burning in a wildfire across Thedas until there wasn't a Circle left intact.

The long journey brought them to a world they hardly recognized.

Flemeth

'Twas a curiosity for Flemeth, a curiosity to observe a child whom she'd nudged—some may have called it a shove—into existence. She had traveled to the Fade to search for her grandson, somehow cleverly hidden by her unsurprisingly clever daughter, and had happened upon this child, instead. Not her grandson, yet almost as fascinating.

Soon enough, she was no longer content to merely observe. She certainly could not be content to do so when the dream the child had conjured was about something as mundane as sailing. So very quaint.

Flemeth allowed herself to be seen.

The child spun around, the illusions she'd drawn up using her imagination dissolving into the raw Fade. "Who are you?" she asked before Flemeth had hardly taken a single step closer.

The corner of Flemeth's mouth twitched in want to smirk or, perhaps, even smile. People always asked that question, and her answers never satisfied them. "I am a fly in the ointment," she told the child. "I am a whisper in the shadows. I am also an old, old woman. More than that, you need not know."

Her hands went to her hips. "If you're walking the Fade, I'll probably need more than riddles for answers."

Flemeth laughed, honest amusement touched by kindness, and entirely absent of malevolence. "'Tis true, yet it will sharpen your mind should I leave you to discover it on your own."

"Is this how you look when you're awake?" The girl's dirty and torn clothing, sensible to wear if one were on a ship, had shifted to a nightgown when she'd let go of the illusion she'd formed around her. It was an astute question for one so young in their ability to Dream.

"Sometimes," said Flemeth. "Sometimes not."

Lack of solid answers did not daunt the young girl, which was to her credit. "The magic from you feels familiar, but still different from any other magic I've felt." Then the child blinked and stared up at Flemeth, now within arm's reach, yet no fear had formed in the girl's eyes. "No, it does. Just a little. The apostate in Highever, the one who often heals in the Alienage—I saw her by the docks when we got home from Kirkwall. Her magic felt like yours." Then she stopped and waited for confirmation.

Flemeth would not spell it out for her. The child's young mind would benefit from tying all the pieces together on her own, but she would never quite find all the pieces, scattered as they were. Here, however, she could piece together one part of the whole. She was nearly there. "Speak what you mean, girl."

"Are you her?"

She allowed a trace of her amusement to show, a slight upward curl of one corner of her mouth, but nothing more. "I am her when she is needed, just as I am me when I am needed."

The child crossed her arms, exasperation in the place one would have expected fear to dwell. "That almost made sense."

Flemeth began feel a certain fondness for the child, if only to have someone be forthright with her. So very few dared to do so. "And the day it makes sense to you, you will fully understand what I am."

"Are you a threat, like the demons?"

She tilted her head to the side. "You tell me."

The child paused and thought it over before she answered. "You're dangerous," she said slowly, "but I don't think you're a threat to me. Not right now."

"And in the future?"

"It isn't the future yet. When I get there, I'll know."

Such certainty. Such confidence. Another genuine laugh rang from Flemeth's throat. "Oh, I like you, clever child. Keep your eyes open and you will see the path before you."

"You speak in riddles."

"Why, so I do! One day, you will solve them. Come find me when you do."

Before the child could answer, Flemeth pushed her out of the Fade, to where she would awaken in her bed on Thedas, likely puzzled. Good. The child needed challenges. All children did. Without them, they would never learn what they truly needed to be taught, especially that one.

While she'd had an inkling of how such a child would nudge the future into a direction Flemeth desired, she'd not known the exact mechanism. She could not, for all it would help, entirely foresee the future. Glimpses. Flashes of memories that did not yet exist. Steps do a dance she did not yet know. Music familiar as a lullaby, yet she had never hummed the tune. That the child had turned out a Dreamer had been a surprise, a wonderful surprise that foretold her favored future approaching faster than she had ever dared to hope. The child had served as a flashpoint, where her presence had brought together the necessary people to bring about the resulting events, events that would now bring forth the fire that would consume the world. Then she would dance, her footprints left in the ashes as she rebuilt the world as it should be. The world as it would have been, if not for betrayal.

It had been a long journey.

Now, they were nearly there.

END

NOTES

-Epigraphs for each chapter are from codex entries found in Dragon Age: Origins, Dragon Age: Awakening, Dragon Age II, The World of Thedas Vols. 1 and 2, and Dragon Age: Inquisition.

-Some dialogue from Dragon Age II was used in this story.

-Some of the traveling plot arc in Orlais, along with the White Spire and some of its inhabitants, were adapted from Dragon Age: Asunder and Dragon Age: The Masked Empire.

-And a very special thanks goes out to my beta, LeliMor29.