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Chapter Text

Two Grey Wardens and a Chantry sister walked into the meadow. It sounds like the start to a joke, Daylen Amell mused. But perhaps not a particularly good one.

Daylen, Leliana and Aeden were deep in the Planascene forest, outside a tiny hamlet inhabited mostly by farmers and sheep herders. Although they had the air of friends out on a pleasant jaunt, this was not by accident. They had spent the previous day inquiring with the townsfolk of Pella’s Rest, though no one there knew anyone named Pella and the inn had not been particularly restful.

But they had found what they were looking for. As stated by the townsfolk, the “medicine woman’s” hut stood out amid the grassy grove. Beside him, Daylen noticed Aeden tense.

“That seems like it, no?” Leliana asked, voice light in the dew-laden morning.

Daylen had never seen his Grey Warden colleague quite this jittery before. Aeden Cousland was one of the finest warriors he’d had the pleasure of meeting, and the two became fast friends over the last couple of years, when the threat of the Fifth Blight had threatened the future of Ferelden. Aeden might look young and fresh-faced, but he had faced hordes of darkspawn, a traitorous murderer, and even an archdemon with the grace of a well-seasoned knight. Now Aeden was running a nervous hand through his nape-length brown hair and straightening the front of his tabard. That he seemed this worked up over a woman was — unexpected.

Well. Daylen glanced at Leliana, her lustrous auburn hair shining in the sun under the weight of her Chantry veil. Perhaps he’d feel similarly if Leliana left him one day, without so much as a word.

“Maybe we ought to wait here?” Daylen suggested.

“No, no. I think I may need some friends about me.” Aeden drew himself up to his full height and led the way up the worn dirt path

The thatched roof cottage loomed before them, framed by the tree line. Dried herbs hung from the rafters of an adjacent lean-to, and cabbages and carrots grew in a small vegetable patch. As Aeden approached the front door, Daylen snatched Leliana’s sleeve, holding her slightly back.

“I think he needs to do this himself,” Daylen murmured.

“I’m not sure why the nerves,” Leliana whispered back. “Though I suppose she can be a little... sharp-tongued.”

“I’m not sure why she left him in the first place,” Daylen continued in a low voice, as Aeden continued to preen in front of the door.

Though he had a few theories. He contemplated them sometimes, amid his many research projects in Kinloch Hold. After the Blight’s end, and their adventuring group had split up, Daylen returned to his Enchanter duties at Ferelden’s Circle. To his delight, Leliana followed him to assist in the rebuilding process, though he did fear one day soon her own sense of duty to the Chantry might call her back to Val Royeaux.

Aeden had remanded to Highever, and they’d all thought Morrigan might join him there. Instead, the so-called Witch of the Wilds had disappeared without a trace. It had taken several months and a number of inquiries by Leliana with her Chantry contacts (or perhaps her bard contacts, Daylen was never sure) until there was a reputable sighting. The Planascene Forest was a bit of a no-man’s land, nestled between the coastal Nevarran port of Cumberland and Kirkwall, the Free Marcher city. If someone wanted to vanish into the unknown, here was an excellent place to do it.

It was Leliana who suggested they accompany Aeden on his search. That it would be good to see their friend, and useful to lend support, moral or otherwise. Morrigan was a spirited young woman, used to living on the wild fringe of society. Daylen wasn’t sure what exactly had driven her away — a clash of tempers with cool, collected Aeden? Or perhaps the unfounded fear that now the Blight had passed, they would attempt to hand her over to a Circle?

Daylen had not shared these suspicions with Leliana. She seemed a bit swept up in the romance of the thing, which was her way. Dedication to the Chantry had not swept away the intrigues of bard life from her, and even now she was smirking excitedly as Aeden rapped his knuckles against the door.

“Nor I,” Leliana said, her tone conspiratorial. “It is a bit of a mystery.”

“If you were to hazard a guess—”

The door swung open, interrupting their ruminations. Morrigan stepped out. She looked exactly as she did the last time Daylen saw her in Denerim: long, black hair swept up and tied atop her head, clever gold eyes, and the elaborate furs and buckles of a Chasind peasant, scantily clad around her.

Morrigan’s eyes narrowed as she took in Aeden. “What are you doing here?” she demanded coldly. Her gaze skittered over his shoulder to Daylen and Leliana and she grew even more irate. “What are you doing here?”

Daylen and Leliana exchanged puzzled looks. They had certainly been expecting a warmer welcome than this. Aeden, for his part, was stuttering uncharacteristically.

In the middle of this perplexing scene, Morrigan crossed her arms over her chest and leaned angrily against the doorframe. Daylen could finally see what distance had before prevented him from noticing: the large, taut curve of a belly swollen with child.

Daylen’s mouth dropped open. Leliana let out a small gasp of surprise. Their eyes met.

“Oh,” said Daylen.

“I see,” said Leliana.

“See what, exactly?” Morrigan snapped. Excellent hearing on that girl.

Aeden had at last regained control of his faculties. “Could I— maybe— speak to you alone?” he asked desperately.

Morrigan pulled him inside and slammed the door, leaving Daylen and Leliana behind to stare in stunned silence.

Inside, Morrigan tried to control herself. She did this by storming across the one-room cottage and refusing to look at Aeden Cousland. Excellent work, really. Foolproof plan. She grabbed at one of the dirty dishes in her washtub and began scrubbing it threateningly with a brush.

“So, dear Aeden,” she said archly, “which part of ‘you will never seek me out again’ didn’t get through your thick skull?”

She refused to look at him, but she decided she could hear him flinch. There was a bit of his reflection in the window above her washtub. He stood by the door, standing to attention like the soldier he’d been before the Grey Wardens had taken him. He looked quite fit after all this time: the handsome, stubbled jaw, his earnest eyes. He had lovely hair and wore it long, in a way she’d always found a touch vain. But endearing.

“I wanted to make sure you were all right,” Aeden began, all chivalry.

Morrigan let out a shrill laugh. “Well, as you can see, I’m doing excellently, thank you! Now you can leave.”

There was a beat of silence. And then: “You’re planning to give birth to our child in here?”

Morrigan whirled, brandishing the brush at him. Soap suds flew into the air. “What’s wrong with it? ’Tis a clean place. Tidy.” Except for a few dirty dishes, but she didn’t mention that. “I’ve all I need when the time comes.”

A crease appeared between Aeden’s brows as he frowned. “Forgive me — I’m not all that well-versed in the business of childbed, but wouldn’t it do to have a midwife?”

“Pssh,” Morrigan said dismissively. “One doesn’t need a midwife when she has magic.”

Aeden gave her a dubious look. He looked too much like the mabari the Fereldan noble houses revered, when they were soft-eyed and begging for scraps. She thought of his dog Drake and noted the familial resemblance.

“If,” Aeden said softly, “you were to return with me to Highever—”

“Stop right now, before I blast your shapely buttocks right out that door,” Morrigan chirped.

Aeden fell silent.

Morrigan took a deep breath and returned to her dishes. “Say hello to Daylen and Leliana for me, will you?”

Aeden didn’t move. Drat. She had a feeling it wouldn’t be that easy.

“What if,” Aeden said slowly, “I said you weren’t the reason we were here at all? That there’s some Grey Warden business we’re attending to, and we just so happened to hear about someone fitting your description in the area?”

“I would say you are lying,” Morrigan replied.

Aeden sighed. “Well, all right. That did come up after we got here. But— if I still needed your help with it?”

Morrigan halted and peered over her shoulder. He was looking painfully earnest again.

She pursed her lips. “It would depend on what the business was.”

“Have you heard of Mudstick Hill?”

Morrigan raised her eyebrows, surprised. That was indeed a local landmark. “’Tis some sort of ancient barrow or ruin. About as exciting as it sounds, but the locals give it a wide berth. Supposed to be haunted, but you know how suspicious the smallfolk can be.”

“Well,” Aeden said slowly, “I happen to know from meeting up with the regional Grey Warden chapter that it’s actually a Warden outpost. But that they haven’t heard from their Commander in quite some time. We were tasked with checking it out and giving them our reconnaissance.” He cocked an eyebrow in a way that make him seem unintentionally rakish. “Are you interested?”

Morrigan hesitated. Tried to will herself to say no.

“You must be dreadfully bored out here,” Aeden commented, looking around the hut. “I never took you for a gardener.”

Morrigan tried not to rise to the bait. But damn the man, it was tedious here day in and day out. Her only company was the occasional townsfolk from Pella’s Rest, and she usually chased them away with barbed words. She wasn’t some common woods witch, here to treat minor injuries or sexual maladies.

“Say I agree to come with you,” Morrigan said with deliberate care. “Just to assess the situation. If there was danger, you wouldn’t treat me like a delicate flower just because of my condition?”

Aeden’s mouth twitched. “Of course not.”

“Goodness, you really are a terrible liar.” Morrigan laughed.

Aeden shrugged helplessly. “I have defended you in battle countless times, have I not? Is this any different?”

“That was before we lie together with the intention of having a child!”

Aeden glanced at his boots, a troubled expression falling across his wide, handsome face. Morrigan gritted her teeth. He had known the score, back in Denerim before the fight against the archdemon. She’d thought perhaps he’d have a difficult time letting her go, and all of this was proof of that. His hurt was almost enough to break her resolve — the truth, hovering on the tip of her tongue. That if she stayed with him, he would never be safe.

“Think about it,” Aeden said, raising his chin. “It would be nice to have the support. That’s all.”

A long silence followed, where they held each other’s gaze. He was a stubborn one, she had to give him that. His resolve was one of the things she admired about him, if she was being honest with herself.

“Fine,” Morrigan said, tossing the brush into the washtub. “Let me go find my staff.”

Chapter Text

In Aeden’s opinion, Mudstick Hill lived up to its name. In the middle of the forest, the trees gave way to a mud-laden mound. In the center, at the mound’s apex, was a crumbling stone tower. Only its ground floor remained standing, its walls jutting at odd angles. The grass around with it was laden with mossy stones.

“This is supposed to be a Grey Warden outpost?” Morrigan asked, incredulous.

“So we were told,” Daylen said, stroking the end of his handlebar mustache. “It was meant to be clandestine, I understand.”

“If so, the camouflage is a good one,” Aeden commented, scrutinizing the architecture. “Based on the placement, I suspect it extends for several stories underground.”

“The Warden-Commander, a man named Corwin Hollister, was well-respected amongst the wardens we spoke to.” Leliana knelt as she spoke, unwrapping her bow and quiver of arrows from her pack. “He was once a mage out of the Circle in Tantervale, I understand, before he took the grey. His men were happy to serve under him; never any strife.”

“Which it makes it all the stranger none have checked in for months,” Daylen said. “My fellow Enchanters are usually a fastidious lot — not ones to leave paperwork undone.”

“So,” Morrigan said brightly, “what are the odds they’ve all been killed?”

Aeden grimaced. Morrigan never minced words, and was often the first to voice an opinion others thought uncouth. Aeden usually found this refreshing about her, but in the context of tracking down Warden colleagues, the comment stung more than he thought it might. Daylen and Leliana were already politely looking everywhere but at her pregnant belly, but he could feel their unspoken questions for Aeden in their gazes. Gazes that were, once again, centering on him.

Aeden cleared his throat, his hand surreptitiously going to the hilt of his sword. “I truly hope this isn’t the case, but we must prepare for every possibility. The grounds look fortified enough, but if the outpost is mostly underground, we can’t rule out the chance of a darkspawn attack from the Deep Roads. We should approach with caution.”

Aeden led the way. He was, as they crested the hill, overcome with a wave of nostalgia: it was really not so long ago he had led their party against the darkspawn threat in much the same manner. To his right, Daylen stepped lightly with a fencer’s posture, his staff already in his hands. Leliana had already nocked an arrow on her bow, but carried it facing the ground. Only Morrigan stepped boldly as she pleased, no weapon drawn. But then again, Aeden wondered — what magicks might now be at her disposal, after what had transpired between them before the Battle of Denerim.

On the hilltop, the walls of the tumbledown tower loomed before them in disrupted concentric circles. It reminded Aeden of a smaller version of Kinloch Hold in Ferelden, if the place had been razed to the ground. Along one curved wall, a staircase climbed six or so feet in the air before giving way to nothing. Ivy clung to much of the old masonry, as did lichen and, of course, mud. Nothing stirred but thin wisps of mist along the damp grass.

“No sign of a fight,” Daylen noted.

“No sign of much of anything,” quipped Morrigan.

“Spread out,” Aeden suggested. “If I’m right, there may be a hidden entrance around here somewhere.”

Spread out they did, though Aeden noticed Leliana and Daylen took the same east-facing side of the tower. He heard indistinct murmurings among them, and tried not to dwell on the likelihood that they were gossiping about Aeden’s predicament with Morrigan.

He tried not to prove Morrigan right by shadowing her through the stone walls. Instead, he went in a vaguely adjacent direction, just enough to catch glimpses of her. He studied each nook and cranny he came across, but nothing yielded results. Finally, he was forced — or so he told himself — to move closer to where Morrigan had last been seen.

He found her leaning against a wall, one hand cupping the roundness of her belly. Bits of her black hair had fallen over one eye as her lip twisted in thought. Aeden had a terrible desire to walk over to her and kiss her.

Instead, he approached with slow deliberateness. “Find anything?”

Morrigan nodded toward the ground. With one foot, she drew back a pile of dead leaves and tapped at the wood of a trap door. “It seems you were right.”

Aeden frowned. “This entrance looks like it hasn’t been used in quite some time.”

“Indeed. I imagine that doesn’t bode well for your Warden colleagues, unless they’ve taken to isolating themselves.”

Aeden knelt down, pulling on the metal ring that served as a door handle. Locked. “I would hope it isn’t plague. Grey Wardens are supposed to be resistant to normal diseases.”

Morrigan shrugged. “I suppose there is only one way to find out, yes?”

It sounded like a challenge. Aeden studied Morrigan’s face, one eyebrow arched.

Aeden succumbed. “It would perhaps be better, if you were to stay behind until—”

“Ha!” Morrigan laughed in his face.

“—We ascertain there is no immediate threat,” Aeden finished, his temper rising. “I’m allowed to care about your well-being, aren’t I?”

“I cannot control your moods. But as I have reiterated numerous times, darling Aeden, I am fine.” Morrigan raised her voice and called out across the tower. “Leliana? We’ve need for a lock pick.”

The lock popped open. Leliana sat back on her heels and watched Aeden open the trap door. It revealed a set of stone stairs, descending into the darkness.

Leliana deposited her lock pick set in the pocket of her Chantry robes and accepted Daylen’s hand. Her paramour pulled her to her feet, and she thanked him with a small smile.

Aeden was already leading the charge down the steps. Morrigan sauntered behind, her pregnant stomach swaying as she took the stairs one at a time. Leliana followed suit, with Daylen taking up the rear.

The stairs led to a dusty landing, bare except for a door in three of the four walls and another curved staircase leading down. The stillness was unnerving, Leliana admitted to herself. The longer they went without seeing a soul, the more she suspected the outcome for Corwin Hollister and his wardens would be grim.

Aeden lighted a torch to repel the gloom. “Hello?” he called. “Warden-Commander Hollister? We’re your colleagues, come to see how you’re doing.”

Silence. Leliana signed herself and mouthed a quick prayer.

They went door to door. The first two yielded an armory and storage, with nothing obvious out of place. The third gave way to an office. All were empty.

They stood in the spacious office, considering what to do. The place looked undisturbed, and a scholar’s space, at that. A large astrolabe look up a corner of the room, and there were many bookshelves packed with tomes.

“I assume this belongs to Warden-Commander Hollister,” Daylen commented, nodding to the long rows of bookshelves lining the walls. “I recognize some books of spellwork here.”

Leliana took it upon herself to peruse the papers on the large mahogany desk. She allowed herself a small thrill as she shifted through — this sort of work reminded her of the intrigues of bard life. She enjoyed deciphering information, piecing together the intricacies of someone’s day-to-day.

There were a number of letters, all warm in their tone. “It seems the Warden-Commander retained his ties to the Tantervale Circle,” she said, noting their origin. “Though the most recent one is dated three months past.”

“May I have a look?” Aeden asked.

Leliana passed the letters to him and noticed Daylen and Morrigan had both migrated to the bookshelves. They were bickering lightly about the schools of magic discussed in the Warden-Commander’s tomes.

“Find anything interesting?” Leliana asked, as much of a mediating move as genuine inquiry.

“We found these books stacked atop the shelf,” Daylen said, pointing. “They’re quite old, esoteric tomes. The marked pages show spells going back centuries, to the time when the Tevinter Imperium ruled the continent.”

Daylen’s brow was furrowed with concern, but Morrigan breezily waved a hand. “Enchanter Daylen is concerned about the origin of some of these spells — but I assured him any mage worth her salt would not flinch at magical theory just because it is old.”

“It’s not its age that concerns me,” Daylen rejoined. “It’s that it reads as though it might be dangerous to attempt in the present day.”

“In what way?” Leliana asked, frowning.

“At their core, they seem to be purification spells,” Morrigan said. “‘Dangerous’ is perhaps a touch overdramatic, though I agree that there are probably more modern ways to approach such an endeavor.”

“Purification spells?” Aeden asked, shoring up behind them. He had neatly replaced the papers on Hollister’s desk. “To what end, exactly?”

Morrigan shrugged. “Cure a disease? Perhaps your theory about plague holds weight.”

This was the first time Leliana heard about a plague theory, which troubled her. She had originally thought Aeden’s plan to entice Morrigan out of hiding was a good one, but that was before she knew Morrigan was with child. In her typical demons-may-care fashion, Morrigan was facing any potential danger with a cavalier attitude. But Maker knew it was difficult to get her to see reason. Leliana kept her opinions to herself and turned to Aeden. “Did you see anything in the letters I missed?”

“Alas, they were quite mundane,” Aeden said. “Hollister still seems to be a mentor of sorts to the Tantervale mages. Lots of them writing him seeking advice.”

“I wonder why he gave that up to become a Grey Warden,” Leliana mused.

“Duty?” Daylen guessed. “Honor?”

“Or a change of scenery,” Morrigan quipped.

“Mayhaps all three,” Aeden said. “I hope to find him alive to ask.”

They continued down the curved staircase out in the landing. They passed barracks — empty. A galley and mess hall — also empty. Another staircase led down, and they followed.

The stairs terminated in a circular room. Around them, a number of doors stood open. Aeden led the way. He crossed the threshold and his face contorted in horror. “Maker have mercy.”

Leliana grabbed for her bow, but she needn’t have bothered. Before them was — perhaps at one time, at least — the infirmary. Strapped to beds were corpses: darkspawn and people alike. Leliana realized with a shiver that most of them were wearing Grey Warden uniforms.

“What happened here?” she demanded, pinching a nose against the stink of death.

Daylen gingerly stepped amid the beds, inspecting the bodies. Aeden hooked his torch in a wall notch to give him more light.

“I don’t see any wounds,” Daylen said grimly after a few minutes. “Their deaths may have been through unnatural means.”

“Magic?” Aeden asked.

“I hesitate to say it could be anything else. On the Wardens I see no signs of disease or the Taint, and darkspawn don’t get sick, as far as I’m aware.”

“I think perhaps we are seeing the failed results of an experiment,” Morrigan suggested. “There are a number of — shall we say, obscure — spells that require a sacrifice of many bodies.”

“Blood magic, then?” Leliana asked pointedly.

“Bodies do have blood in them, yes,” Morrigan shot back, “even tainted darkspawn blood. But no, not as such. The magic of which I speak is far older than careless Circle mages dabbling with which they do not understand.”

“To what end, though?” Aeden cut in. “And who among them did such a thing?”

“Does it have anything to do with the books in Hollister’s office?” Leliana suggested.

“It’s hard to say,” Daylen replied, frowning. “I’d really need to take some time studying the spells.”

They searched the rest of the room, which yielded no clues. Then Leliana stepped through the adjacent door, and said, “Ah.” On the floor was a glowing green circle, inlaid with runes and outlined in what she hoped was chalk. “Daylen? Morrigan?”

Daylen stepped through the door first, his face blanching with horror. Morrigan was right behind him, and her eyebrows raised. “Most interesting.”

“Interesting?” Daylen repeated with a touch of sarcasm. He knelt at at safe distance, near the edge of the circle. “It’s a summoning circle of some kind, that much I can tell.”

“I think perhaps we know why the good commander had his tomes bookmarked,” Morrigan quipped.

Leliana turned to Morrigan. “But what is he trying to summon?”

Before she had a chance to answer, a darkspawn ripped itself from the infirmary bed. Leliana shouted in warming, and it launched itself right at Morrigan’s back.

Chapter Text

Daylen missed the whole thing. He merely heard the familiar sound of steel hitting guts and bone and looked up. Morrigan was being yanked through the doorway by Leliana, while behind her, Aeden sliced the darkspawn clear in half. Both torso and legs fell lifeless to the floor, and the four of them stood around in shock for a few seconds.

“Where in Andraste’s name did it come from?” Daylen demanded as Aeden sheathed his sword. Thank goodness his friend’s battle reflexes were still quick.

“Right from the bed,” Leliana said, breathless. “It was dead a second ago.”

“Are you all right?” Aeden cried, rushing to Morrigan’s side. Daylen suppressed a cringe as Morrigan petulantly waved him away.

Morrigan announced, “I am perfectly fine — though our dear Chantry sister did try to rip my arm clean off.”

“You’re welcome.” Leliana met Daylen’s gaze and rolled her eyes.

Daylen suppressed a guffaw. He took her lightly by the shoulders. “And you’re all right?” he asked.

“It wasn’t near me at all,” Leliana said softly. “Though I am worried what that means for the other bodies.”

Aeden was scowling, evidently nursing his wounded pride. He straightened his shoulders and put on his authoritative voice. “Perhaps it best we return outside and build a pyre. We’ll give these poor souls a proper burial and purge the darkspawn corpses, just to be safe.”

“Not a bad idea,” Daylen said. “And that might give me a little time to study those tomes.” Intellectual curiosity was getting the better of him, although he had been an Enchanter long enough to know whatever Hollister or his colleagues were meddling with here, it had been terribly ill-advised. The why of it troubled him more than the how. Didn’t Hollister know better?

They adjourned outside. Daylen and Aeden took some time cutting down some wood and building the pyre. Morrigan sat on a chair they’d rescued from the mess hall and sat with one of the spell tomes propped up on her pregnant belly. Leliana helped the men drag the bodies out, and then wrapped in linen those who weren’t darkspawn — mostly human, but a few elves and one dwarf — and recited the Chant for the Departed over them.

Daylen used a bit of magic to spark the pyre, and Aeden stood watch over the dead. Wiping the sweat from his brow, Daylen looked up and noticed the morning had crept along to afternoon during their labors. He trudged up the hill to where Morrigan and Leliana camped out in the ruins of the tower. He pulled a waterskin and some rations from his pack, happy they had taken the break to return out into the sunshine. He did not consider himself an overly suspicious man, but the mood that permeated the Grey Warden outpost, turned as it had into a tomb, had been suffocating.

As he munched on a bit of beef jerky, Leliana appeared around a tumbledown wall. “Daylen,” she said. “May I speak to you for a moment?”

“Of course, dear.” He stoppered his waterskin and followed her deeper into the ruins. “Did you have a chance to talk to Morrigan about… the development?”

Leliana laughed sardonically. During this endeavor, the two of them had been talking on the sly about how best to help Aeden. At least it was finally clear why he had been so adamant to track Morrigan across the Waking Sea.

“Oh, she never listens to me. I tried, but she seems determined to raise the child on her own. I think perhaps it is a matter of pride for her.” Leliana let out a sad sigh. “But no, that is not what I wanted to discuss.” She drew out of her pocket a letter folded in thirds and affixed with a seal Daylen recognized — the Tantervale Circle. “I found this just now. I did one last sweep down there to see if we could identify the men and women we buried. It was in the room with the summoning circle.”

Daylen held his tongue from chiding her about going into that room alone. He worried for her, but he frequently reminded himself Leliana had been a skilled bard long before she’d turned her life to the Maker. She might not be a mage, but she had a healthy respect for the damage magic could cause.

Daylen unfolded the letter and began to read. His brow furrowed. “Corwin Hollister has a daughter?”

“So it would seem. I went digging back through the letters we found in his office to confirm. This and some others seem to be addressed from a close friend, a Templar, who looks after the girl and her mother. They live outside the city proper.”

Daylen read on, his heart sinking. “This says the girl survived a darkspawn attack out in the wilderness, but that she’s shown signs of the Taint. She’s only ten years old.” A terrible conundrum, something no parent wanted to face. Suddenly, it clicked. “That’s why Hollister was researching obscure purification spells. He was looking for a cure.”

“I think so.” Leliana sighed. “At terrible cost.”

Daylen folded the letter back up, pressing his mouth into a thin line. “There is no cure for the Taint. The girl will have to attempt the Joining or suffer a horrible fate.”

“I know. But I am not sure Hollister does.” Leliana crossed her arms. “I wanted to tell you first. I thought — well, given that Morrigan and Aeden are expecting a child, perhaps… well. It’s upsetting enough, even if you aren’t a parent.”

“Yes, that was wise.” Daylen took a grim breath. “But we must break it to them together, I think.”

Morrigan did not understand why the others were being so sentimental. So the rogue Grey Warden had a dying child, so what? Morrigan felt no special pangs about it one way or another. (The child inside her moved, as it did sometimes. A strange joy, to feel life growing — but that did not make her precious about strangers.)

“Does the letter say where the child lives?” Aeden asked, wringing his hands.

He had been pacing the length of the tower ruins, with Leliana and Daylen standing around sheepishly beside him. Only Morrigan had had any sense to sit — which only had a small amount to do with her aching back.

“It appears to be a farm outside Tantervale, from what I could tell,” Leliana said.

“The Templar at the Circle might be able to tell us more,” mused Daylen.

Morrigan let out an impatient noise. “’Tis several days’ journey by foot. Through the Vimmarks, which are still covered by snows this time of year.”

“That is a good point,” Leliana said. “If we are wondering whether Hollister set out to find her, he might have been delayed by the weather.”

“Is that what we are wondering?” Morrigan asked archly. “Or are you hatching your own plan to save this poor unfortunate from herself?”

Aeden cleared his throat. “If the girl has been blighted, she has a limited amount of time to undergo the Joining or die. If we were to track her down, we could return her to the Grey Wardens we met at the coastal outpost.”

“It is her best shot,” Daylen agreed.

“I think we ought to solve one problem before you consider galavanting off to insert yourselves in another,” Morrigan said. “We’ve no proof Hollister took off, do we?”

“Other than that he and a number of those under his command are still missing, no,” Leliana admitted.

Morrigan tapped the magic tome she’d been studying while the others played at funeral rites. “Based on these spells and the result of the experimentations downstairs, Hollister was far from perfecting his purification ritual. He might be mad with grief, but only a fool would set out to do the real thing from those test runs.”

Daylen frowned. “I’ve not yet had a chance to look at the books. Perhaps if I did—”

Morrigan narrowed her eyes, annoyed. “Do you not trust the conclusions of an apostate?”

She took a bit of pleasure in watching Daylen’s mouth twitch under his mustache. He was exceedingly polite, but Circle mages usually possessed a hubris she couldn’t resist poking fun at.

“Be that as it may,” Aeden cut in, giving her an imploring look she interpreted as cut it out, “we’ve searched every inch of the tower. Hollister and his men aren’t here.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure of that,” Morrigan said. She flipped through the pages to a blank one in the back, scrawled with drawings in ink that looked fresher than the rest. “I noticed this as I was perusing. It looks like some sort of ritual chamber, but we’ve found no trace of one so far.”

“Let me see.” Daylen glanced over her shoulder, his eyes widening. “I’ll be damned. It even looks circular, like it could be a part of the tower.” He nodded to the large black hole in the middle of the room. “Though I shudder to think what that could be.”

Soon everyone was crowding around Morrigan trying to get a look.

“There’s a staircase looping around, here.” Leliana pointed. “Could there be a lower level we’ve missed?”

“Or that’s hidden,” Aeden suggested. “Come, I think it’s time we had a look.”

Not long after, they were standing in the bottom floor of the tower, scouring the place for hidden doors. It wasn’t until they returned to the room with the glowing green circle that they saw success. Leliana noticed a piece of stone out of place in the wall, and pressing it in caused a section of masonry to roll away. A staircase beckoned. The walls flickered with candlelight, and from the depths came a low, consistent chanting.

“Ah,” Morrigan said triumphantly. “It seems Ser Hollister may still be home after all.”

Aeden stood beside her, hesitating. Then he grabbed her hand and squeezed it — a perfectly perplexing gesture, though it did make her feel a touch endeared. She squeezed back. No, wait, why was she doing that? Ugh! She disgusted herself sometimes.

Aeden dropped her hand and drew his sword. “I think it’s time we made his acquaintance.”

Aeden led the group, bastard sword in one hand and shield in the other. It felt almost like the old days — though what he wouldn’t give to have the whole team with him. As they were, it was just him and the rest as back up. What he wouldn’t give to have Alistair or Sten or even Oghren to help him with a front line assault.

Aeden advanced into the ritual chamber. Daylen stayed behind with Leliana and Morrigan, having drawn his war staff and side sword. Leliana had her bow ready to fire, and Morrigan clutched her own staff in both hands.

The ritual chamber looked like some sort of repurposed root cellar. Amid lit braziers, bodies littered the floor. To his horror, they all wore Grey Warden uniforms. In the center of a room was a large, black hole — a through way, Aeden realized, to the Deep Roads. Below the hole came the distant groaning of darkspawn.

A man in Warden blue-grey stood just beyond the hole, holding aloft a heavy tome. He was strongly built, with sleek, shoulder-length grey hair and what Aeden would have called a kind face, if it had not been twisted so with dark contemplation. He was surrounded by another glowing green circle, much like the one they’d found on the floor above.

And he was still chanting, despite the interruption. Aeden’s stomach clenched with dread.

“Corwin Hollister, I presume?” he called, determined not to let his fear show.

Hollister’s gaze shifted to Aeden. His chanting slowed, then stopped, as he regarded the group coldly.

“I know not who you are,” Hollister replied. “But if you were smart, you would leave this place at once.”

Behind Aeden, he heard Daylen’s voice. “We’re fellow Grey Wardens, Commander Hollister. We were tasked with checking in on you by the Planascene Outpost. They’re worried about you down there.”

Hollister snorted. “They’ll have to worry awhile longer. Please, leave me in peace, or I shall have to do something drastic.”

Aeden inched closer, gripping the hilt of his sword tightly. “We know about your daughter, Ser Hollister. What you’re doing is perfectly understandable. If it was my own child, I might do the same.” He swallowed thickly. “I would love that babe with my entire soul. Nothing would stop me from protecting it.” He took a breath. “Or its mother.”

Hollister looked at him, perplexed. “I don’t know what you’re getting at. I’m — not on good terms with my daughter’s mother.”

Morrigan let out a sardonic cackle.

“Oh. Sorry. My mistake.” Aeden took another step closer to Hollister, carefully avoiding the lip of the pit. “But I daresay doing fell rituals that cost the lives of your men won’t aid a reconciliation.”

Hollister shuddered. “If it will save my Tansy — I’m willing. I need more bodies.”

As if in affirmation, the darkspawn in the pit groaned loudly.

“Please, ser,” Aeden said. “We don’t wish to do violence with you. Call off the horde.” If he even can. Darkspawn were notoriously hard to control.

Hollister gave Aeden a sad, pitiful look. “I pray the Maker will forgive me one day.”

He held his hand in the air. Magical energy flowed from it like mist. Hollister made a fist and pulled, as if on the fabric of reality itself. Aeden felt an unnatural surge of cold.

Darkspawn began to pour from the hole.

Aeden sprang forward. He reached Hollister and swung his sword. The Warden-Commander thrust upward with a buckler strapped his wrist and parried. He dove for the ground, shooting a ball of fire that narrowly missed Aeden’s hair. Aeden advanced, but Hollister was back on his feet, drawing his staff. He held it in both hands, deftly getting in physical jabs — one connected, leaving Aeden’s shoulder stinging. It was difficult, momentarily, to raise his shield arm. Hollister twirled the staff in one hand and slamming it into the ground. Lines of flame erupted in the air, forcing Aeden back.

He’s trained like a soldier — I’ve rarely seen a mage use their weapons like mundane quarterstaves. Aeden forced his shield aloft, grunting in pain, just in time to deflect another fire bolt. Across the room, a dozen or more darkspawn were trying to overwhelm his team.

Leliana had retreated to the staircase, raining arrows down on the hurlocks and the smaller, stockier genlocks from above. Daylen and Morrigan were trying to work as a pair, flanking darkspawn to attack with spells in unison. If the darkspawn got close enough, Daylen slashed out with his thin, precise blade. They were giving it a good show, but the space was filling up quick with more enemies from the pit.

We can’t win down here, Aeden realized — there just wasn’t enough space, not with most of his team relying on ranged combat. They would either have to try to muscle up the stairs and bottleneck the darkspawn on the upper floor, or—

Aeden looked up. The ceiling was low, and the stonework looked ancient. He thought of the crumbling ruins above ground and wondered about the integrity of the whole place. It was risky, but if they simply left to fight the darkspawn, what would stop Hollister from completing whatever horror he had planned?

Hollister advanced on him again with his staff. Aeden ducked, parried, and slashed in return, stepping back and back — until his foot hit air. The pit. Aeden balanced precariously, staring at the black hole and the beady eyes of darkspawn waiting for him down in the dark. Hollister advanced, shoving the edge of his staff toward Aeden’s chest.

And took an icy blast, whizzing past Aeden’s ear, in the side of the neck.

Hollister staggered backward. Aeden regained his balance and looked over his shoulder. Morrigan was holding her hand aloft, swirling with ice magic. She smirked at him.

Aeden cut right, then left, lopping limbs off darkspawn as he went, until he reached Morrigan’s side. She chuckled. “You don’t have to thank me—”

He grabbed her and kissed her.

“I love you,” he said.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake!” Morrigan pushed him away, but she was laughing. “Can we please save the fevered confessions tunnel after the mortal peril has passed?”

“About that,” Aeden said, whirling to block a leaping darkspawn with his shield. “Can you and Daylen muster enough magic to collapse the ceiling?”

Morrigan stared at him. She shot another ball of ice into a genlock’s mouth, dropping it. “Not without bringing the whole place down, I would think.”

“I think we’re going to have to try it.” Aeden grunted, running another in tattered armor through the gut with his blade. “We’re getting overrun here.”

On the other side of the chamber, Corwin Hollister hoisted himself up on the top of a cabinet, hauling the tome with him. He rifled through, looking to find his lost place, no doubt.

Morrigan sighed. “Daylen,” she yelled. “Have you ever tried to mind blast rocks?”

Daylen was by the staircase, trying to keep the darkspawn from swarming up to Leliana. He glanced over at Morrigan like she was mad. “That spell only works on animate targets!”

“So say the orthodox disciplines. But if you’d attempted it, you’d know the reverberation it causes within solid masses.” She pointed with her staff toward the low stone ceiling. “Like so.”

Daylen followed her gaze skeptically. “Then why would it have been named mind blast?”

Aeden threw himself in front of Morrigan, slashing another hurlock in two. “Can we perhaps debate the semantics another time?”

“Now you know what it feels like,” Morrigan muttered.

Daylen drew himself up, squaring his shoulders. “Right. It’s worth a shot. To me!”

Aeden cut his way through to the staircase, Morrigan at his heels. Her ice blasts hit where his sword and shield could not reach. Finally they forced themselves up the stairs. Leliana was crouched there, using the wall for cover, loosing arrow after arrow. On top of the cabinet at the other end of the chamber, Hollister raised his hands and began to chant.

“It’s now or never,” Aeden commanded. “Do it!”

He took Leliana by the arm and hoisted her up. Together they ran up the stairs to the landing behind the secret door, giving Daylen and Morrigan enough room below to cast their spells.

At first, Aeden could see nor hear anything. He and Leliana exchanged nervous glances. Then, a low humming overtook the air. It grew louder and louder, and the walls around them began to tremble. All at once it crescendoed into a violent shake.

Aeden ran down the stairs, right into Daylen. He had Morrigan by the elbow and was trying to help her up the stairs. She had been thrown off-kilter by the weight of her heavy belly. Aeden grabbed her other hand and tugged her upward.

“I am perfectly capable—” Morrigan declared, but the stones beneath them began to crack.

Aeden abandoned politeness. He grabbed Morrigan and lifted her, carrying her — screaming protestations — like a bride over the threshold, all the way to the previous floor. Leliana was there, waiting anxiously. Daylen followed behind, and from the stairs came the sound of terrible rumbling like thunder… then the wails of those being crushed by falling rocks.

“Put me down at once!” Morrigan shrieked, smacking Aeden upside the head.

Aeden returned Morrigan to her feet, and she brushed herself off dramatically. Leliana rushed to Daylen’s side, embracing him.

“I do not think we should tarry,” she said, when Daylen released her from a hug. Leliana pointed to the cracks in the walls around them. The rumbling below continued on and on.

They emerged into the setting sun, panting and dirty and exhausted. They barely made it to the bottom of the mound when the ancient ruins of Mudstick Hill finally collapsed in on itself.

Some time later, the dust cleared. Nought was left but an inescapable pile of stone.

Chapter Text

The next morning, Morrigan rose early to see the others off.

Daylen, Leliana and Aeden stood in the front yard of her cottage, fully packed and ready for the trek to Tantervale. There had been much discussion about it the night before, when they had shared bread and stew in Morrigan’s hut. The roads through the mountains would be too dangerous with snow, so the trio would head east into Nevarra and book passage with a caravan traversing the Imperial Highway. That ought to get them to Tantervale in a week or so. Aeden and Daylen did not want to wait much longer, not knowing how long the girl with the Blight had left without the assistance of the Grey Wardens.

Daylen and Leliana each shared hugs with Morrigan she could only describe as “begrudging.” They cared for each other, in their way, but affection was something Morrigan never managed well. They trudged to the gate; only Aeden and his stupidly handsome face hung back. He took Morrigan’s hands in his.

“Are you sure you don’t want to come with us?” he asked, searching her face with his terrible eagerness. “I haven’t been to Tantervale since I competed in the Grand Tourney some years ago. From what I recall, the food is atrocious, but their inns are fairly comfortable.”

Morrigan chuckled. “My time is too near for a long trip,” she chided him. “We’ve been over this. Go, get the girl. I know your sense of duty won’t permit you anything else.”

Aeden took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I keep thinking about Warden-Commander Hollister. What he was willing to do for his child. It was terrible, but I think I understand it.”

Against her will, Morrigan felt a lump forming in her throat. She could tell him — why she had run. The decisions made, the promises forged — to no longer to listen to the demands of her mother. To protect their baby from Flemeth and the plans she had in store. But Morrigan knew the road that would put them on. Aeden had an awful way of wearing down her defenses, and thought himself too invincible. He didn’t know Flemeth’s true power. No one did.

“I’m thinking of naming him Kieran,” Morrigan blurted.

Aeden froze. He stared at her with stricken eyes. His hands crept to her belly, and she did not pull away. Savored the feel of them there, his warm, sure palms.

“What if it’s a girl?” Aeden asked softly.

Morrigan shook her head, blinking rapidly against hot, embarrassing tears. “It’s a boy. I just have a feeling.”

Aeden sniffed. He straightened to a soldier’s posture. “Kieran is a good name. Strong.”

He leaned in and kissed her on the forehead. Morrigan grabbed his face and pressed her mouth to his. Their kiss was demanding and full of longing.

Afterward, he pressed his forehead to hers.

“I’ll come back,” Aeden promised. “Once we get the girl settled with the Grey Wardens. I want to be here when the time comes.”

“All right,” Morrigan lied, because she knew otherwise he’d never go, and she had much packing of her own to do. Her heart felt rent in two — quite similar to the way she felt the night she fled Denerim, but had told herself she felt nothing at all.

Morrigan stayed at her door as Aeden, Daylen and Leliana departed. She watched them disappear down the dirt path and into the woods. They waved at the tree line; she waved back, and then she was alone.

Morrigan went inside and leaned against the door for some time, her vision blurred with tears. At last she wiped her eyes and tipped her head toward her protruding stomach.

“Well, my little darling,” she said quietly. “That’s that.”