#those in the know (the seneschal at the very least; probably the warden recruits too) like no we fully get it

[flashhwing]

in my warden cousland-hawke au, i think Leandra and Bethany and Carver, believing that all grey wardens died at ostagar (carver's eyewitness account is pretty harrowing), would leave Lothering before Hawke and Alistair and Morrigan come through, which is before Hawke starts calling himself Cousland

the result of this is you've got the three Hawkes in Kirkwall getting letter from survivors of Lothering like "hey just thought you should know your other son is alive! we saw him after the battle but before the village was destroyed!"

but then they're also hearing about how the Only Two Surviving Ferelden Grey Wardens Ended The Blight! Warden (now King) Alistair Theirin and Warden (now Arl/Warden-Commander) Whatsisname Cousland! Hawke who the fuck is he never heard that name idk are you sure he's a warden?

and they are simply not sure what to believe

[degenerate-perturbation]

Chapters: 9/? Fandom: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: Female Amell/Female Surana Characters: Female Amell, Female Surana, Anders, Velanna, Nathaniel Howe Additional Tags: Established Relationship Series: Part 2 of void and light, blood and spirit Summary: Amell and Surana are out of the Circle, and are now free to build a life together. But when the prison doors fly open, what do you have in common with the one who was shackled next to you? What do you have in common, save for the chains that bound you both?

“Things sure have changed.”

At first Yvanne wasn’t even sure if Anders had meant that comment for her or for the birds. They’d been standing on the same parapet, not talking to each other, for an uncomfortably long time.

There were rather a lot of things she wanted to say to him. “Yeah,” she said instead.

By now the Keep was well on its way to being rebuilt, although there would be months to go before it was anything like its former glory. Still, it felt bigger now than before. The new recruits had swelled the Order’s ranks, and while before Yvanne had known everyone’s name and where they’d come from, these days she could barely keep track of who was who.

Anders was staring off into the cold afternoon sky. He looked wistful, with the faintest hints of fury buried deep beneath. Mostly he looked a bit tired.

She made an attempt: “Bit of a far toss from back when it was just a couple of childhood friends charging around the countryside, fresh out of the Tower."

He acquired a ghost of smile. “And Oghren.”

She snorted. “Yeah. And Oghren.”

“And the Seneschal.”

Unbidden tears came to her eyes. She hadn’t expected to miss the old man this much. “And the Seneschal,” she agreed, throat tight..

He nudged her. “Getting sentimental on me, are you?”

Startled out of her rising grief, she laughed. “Oh, shut up.” She shoved him on the upper arm, and he made a big show of pretending to almost fall off the parapet, pinwheeling his arms.

Suddenly the tension between them that had persisted in the past weeks evaporated, and it was almost like old times. They reminisced, joking and trading barbs. For a blessed portion of an hour, the fact that things were different now didn’t seem so tragic.

But all things ended.

He chuckled. “I remember when there were so few of us we had to do everything ourselves.”

Yvanne smiled, watery. “And having Nate join up was this big thing, let alone Sigrun and Velanna. Maker, it felt like such a risk. I mean, what if we didn’t get along?”

They both laughed, but not very hard this time, and not for long.

“Do you even know all the recruits names anymore?” he said.

“I used to,” she said wistfully. After the incident with Rolan, she had removed herself as head of recruitment. She didn’t trust herself with that job anymore. “I still know most of them, I think.”

He paused, then, “Do you know those three fellows who have been hanging around Rolan lately?”

“Oh, hm.” She stiffened a bit. Rolan had kept his distance from her and she had been too ashamed of herself to mind what he did. But it was still her job to know. “One of them’s named Conner, I think. He’s local. Used to be a farrier. The ginger’s an ex-mercenary from Starkhaven, William or something like that.”

“The big guy. Yeah. And the wiry fellow with the accent?”

“I think he’s originally from Nevarra. I can’t remember his name. Starts with an A.”

“You don’t think there’s anything funny about them?”

“No. Why would I?”

He paused. “They’ve been talking a lot, the four of them.”

“So they’re friends. Good for them,” she said, annoyed. “So what?”

“They’ve been talking privately.”

“If they’ve been talking privately, how would you know about it?”

“Never mind,” he muttered. “I’m just saying it’s suspicious, is all.”

She quirked an eyebrow. “It’s suspicious that four men are friends?”

“It’s not just that they’re friends, alright?” he snapped. “I think they’ve been keeping an eye on me. Lately no matter where I go, it seems like one of them’s there, too.”

“So you think they’re what, spying on you?”

“Not just me!” He leaned in closer, looking around as though someone might be listening in. “I think they know about Justice. I heard them talking once, and ever since then they’ve been more careful.”

“That’s troubling,” Yvanne agreed. “If true. But we’re working on it."

"Working on it? They're still here, though."

"What am I supposed to do? Throw them out of the Wardens on the vague suspicion that they might know about the possessed corpse we keep on staff?” Even if she’d wanted to, and a large part of her did, Loriel wouldn’t have agreed.

“Look, can you at least rotate me off patrol with those guys? I don’t know who Rolan’s bribing to keep getting assigned to my squads, but I’m sick of it.”

She shrugged. “Sure, fine. If it’ll make you feel better, I guess.”

“Thanks.” There was an awkward silence. “But you don’t believe me.”

The tension was back in full force.

“I don’t know,” she said eventually.

“I knew it. You think I’m crazy.”

“I never said that.”

“But you were thinking it."

She threw her hands up. “Look, I’m sick of being paranoid. I’m tired of it, alright, Anders? I’m tired! I don’t want to be watching my back all the time, afraid that someone is finally going to get me if I let my hackles down for even a second. I mean—Andraste, we’re not Circle mages anymore, we’re Wardens! Shouldn’t we act like it? Shouldn’t we stop being afraid?

“Sounds peachy,” he said acidly. “I’ll just get right on that, shall I?”

She set her jaw and looked away.

“Can't you talk to Loriel about this?”

“Talk to her yourself," Yvanne said stiffly. "You know where her office is.”

“She’s hardly ever in there anymore," Anders protested. "You don’t get it. She doesn’t listen to us. It’s like talking to an extremely polite brick wall. She smiles and agrees to everything and then it’s like she doesn’t even remember the conversation.”

“She’s got a lot on her mind."

“Yeah, well, we all have a lot on our minds. But she listens to you.”

“What exactly do you want me to tell her? That four men are friends? Don’t be ridiculous.”

“You know that’s not what—”

“No,” she said, turning around. “I’m done talking about this. I don’t always understand Loriel’s decisions, but I support her, always and completely. So you can go ahead and quit using me to try and get to her. Talk to her yourself. Or don’t. But leave me out of it.”

“Fine,” Anders said. He could have frozen Kinloch Lake with the ice in that fine. “Things really have changed, huh? I remember when you gave a damn about something besides yourself and your own comfort.”

Yvanne snorted. “You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”

“I remember when you actually bothered to stick your neck out for other people," he went on, yanking her by the shoulder so that she was obliged to face him. The damn beanpole had several inches on her. They glared at each other.

"The Yvanne I used to know would never have put up with this. She would have shouted. She would have been swinging. She would have made damn sure that the whole world knew that she wasn’t content."

“Yeah, well,” she said, drawing in on herself. “The Yvanne you used to know got the shit beaten out of her every other week. And what did she ever accomplish?”

“Fine, whatever." He gave a bitter snort, crossed his arms and went back to staring out at the grey landscape. “Didn’t realize you were giving up on all your principles.”

“Principles!” she said, scornful. “Principles! Since when have I ever claimed to have principles? I used to be an angry, miserable, vicious child, and now that I’m not that child anymore, you want to get mad at me? Real fine of you to get on your high horse about principles at me when you’ve spent your whole life being the exact same selfish, careless asshole that I used to be.”

“Maybe I’ve also changed. Maybe you don’t know me as well as you think you do,” he said. “I wonder what Justice would think about that. You remember Justice? Our good friend, the literal embodiment of justice, who you seem perfectly willing to throw under the wagon?”

“Is that what this is about?” A new flare of anger rose up in the pit of her gut. She cared about the spirit. “I've been meaning to talk to you about him. You really need to stop feeding his... complex. He’s not an embodiment of justice, he’s a person. A person uniquely bad at existing in this world, and you’re not making it any easier for him. Neither of you are good for each other.”

He gave her a brief, close-lipped smile. “You know, given the company you chose to keep, I would think that you would be the last person to lecture anybody about who’s good for who.”

It took her a moment to figure out what he was talking about. And suddenly her hot, unhappy anger purified and crystallized into a clear, cold, unbothered pit of pure ice.

“You don’t know a fucking thing you’re talking about,” she said smoothly. “And if you’re going to say things like that, you may as well not speak to me at all."

As she stalked away, she regretted it, a little. Anders was an old friend, and you couldn’t exactly replace those, even if he did say phenomenally stupid, ignorant, wrong things some times.

But their friendship had weathered worse. It would probably weather this.

—

The door to the Commander’s office slammed open.

“I have some concerns.”

Loriel slowly closed her book with a sigh. She was getting rather tired of having her office barged into. Maybe she ought to spend more time in her lab, which nobody knew about except Yvanne. “Hello, Anders.”

“Don’t you ‘Hello, Anders’ me, this is serious!”

“Yes, I can see that,” she said.

“I don’t know,” he said acidly. “ Can you?”

“I’m listening very carefully to you, Anders.” She folded her hands on the desk. “What’s this about?”

“I’m talking about how this Keep is clearly infested with Chantry spies and you’re not doing a damn thing about it.”

“Ah. You’re referring to Rolan.”

He huffed. “ Yes, I’m referring to Rolan. I swear he’s been watching me, him and his little gang.”

“I see." She nodded. "While I can’t prevent him from doing what he wishes during his off-duty hours, I can ensure that you are not placed on concurrent duty.”

“But it’s not just me!” he said. “They’re trying to get at Justice, too, and probably Velanna. They were sent here to watch us, because we’re free mages!”

Loriel pursed her lips. “Do you have any evidence of that?”

“Evidence?! What evidence could you possibly need? Use your eyes! I mean, Andraste’s knickerweasels, it’s hardly a bold leap of conjecture, is it?”

She took and released a steady breath. “While I am happy to take steps to ensure you are not forced to work together if you are uncomfortable with his presence, I hardly see how this is evidence that the Keep is ‘infested’ with Chantry spies.”

His jaw dropped. “You can’t possibly be skeptical of conspiracies after the last one! You’d have to be out of your damn mind to deny you have enemies!”

“I am fully in possession of my faculties, thank you,” Loriel said in a clipped tone. “I’ll note that I’m not the one shouting my head off in my immediate superior’s office.”

“Forget it,” he said bitterly. “I can see it’s just going to be a waste of time with you.”

That stung, unexpectedly. She’d known she’d lost Anders’ good opinion even before she decided to spare the Architect, but they’d still been friendly. Maybe even friends, for a bit. She remembered the surprise wedding reception, how she’d danced. He hadn’t done it for her, but...

She let some of the hurt show on her face. Just enough to maybe make him regret saying it. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

He huffed and looked away. “And what about Justice?” he said instead of apologizing. “They’re after him, too, you know! You said you were going to do something about him, and he’s getting corpesier by the day.”

“Yes, I’ve spoken with him,” she said, although she barely had. She’d been keeping the spirit at arm’s length ever since Drake’s Fall, but then, she’d been keeping everyone at arm’s length for the past couple months, besides Yvanne.

It wasn’t that the spirit had been noticeably any colder to her since Drake’s Fall, the way Sigrun had. But she hadn’t been able to forget how close it had come to violence between them. She simply couldn’t trust him anymore. There were times when Loriel thought that she understood Justice better than she understood any mortal. He had a duty as innate to him as  breathing—not that he breathed. It wasn’t that Justice wanted to bring justice. It was simply what he was. Nobody else in the Wardens understood that the way Loriel did.

“And?”

She cleared her throat. “We agreed that it would be prudent that he take more assignments away from the Keep for now.”

“That’s it? That’s your solution?”

“It’s the best I can do in the current circumstances. So for now, yes.”

“And for later? When Kristoff’s body really starts falling apart?”

“We discussed other possibilities." She sighed. "Justice does not wish to go back to the Fade. I hope to respect this choice.”

“What do you mean, hope?” Anders sounded on the edge of panic.

“I mean, finding an alternate host may prove problematic,” Loriel said. “Justice is, well... just. After his experiences with Aura, he doesn’t want to possess another corpse. And even if he did, that would simply be delaying the problem.”

“So he needs a willing host.”

She shook her head. “Even with a willing host, possessions are always unpredictable. I’ve known possessed mages who apparently experienced no adverse effects, but most possessed people are—” she considered, “—unstable, at best.”

“Because they’re possessed by demons,” Anders protested. “Justice is a spirit!”

“Yvanne seems to think that difference is not as important as commonly assumed. It isn’t clear to us yet what exactly makes for a successful possession. It would be irresponsible to ask anyone, even a willing host, to take such a risk when we know so little about the consequences. Returning to the Fade may be his best option. Yvanne has been looking into ways to banish him safely.”

“How can you say that?” Anders burst out. “Justice is our friend, and you’re going to banish him?”

She gave him a piercing look. “Hm. You are good friends,” she noted.

“Yeah, we’ve been talking, so what?” he muttered. “Don’t change the subject. You know Justice doesn’t belong in the Fade anymore. He’s changed.”

Maybe nobody belongs anywhere, Loriel thought absently. “We all change. It’s for the best.”

“Oh, the best,” he said scornfully, a cruel curl to his lip that she had seen before, on a few select occasions. She’d never thought to be on the receiving end of it. “Is that what you think you’re doing? Watching out for everyone’s best interests?”

She stared back, unfazed. “Yes, Anders. That is what I think I’m doing.”

“Well, you have a unique way of going about it, I’ll say.”

“And what exactly do you mean by that?”

“I mean you’re bloody scary!” he snapped. “Do you even realize, how scary you are? I get that you don’t listen to anyone anymore, not even your own damn wife, but really, do you have any idea? Draining the life out of people, paralyzing their lungs, and then inviting a bunch of Templars for high tea, as though they aren’t going to notice that?”

“Contrary to your apparent belief, Anders, I actually am aware that magic tends to be viewed with fear and suspicion, yes. Or do you forget that we were imprisoned in the same tower?” She fought the urge to stand up, assert her powers, escalate the conflict. It wouldn’t have helped. He was a solid foot taller than her.

No, better to stay seated, in control. Let him get emotional. “But I don’t suffer from the illusion that some types of magic are somehow subject to a lesser degree of bigotry.”

“So you really don’t see any difference between healing the sick and stopping the hearts of a dozen people at once?” he said sardonically.

“Oh, please,” she said, irritated despite herself. “That’s what you’re going to fling at me? Those people had every intention of killing me. My men were going to try their best to kill them no matter what happened. I simply expedited the conflict, to spare my men pain and injury and possibly even death, because what is the point of magic if you cannot use it to help people? Just because it didn’t feel very fair doesn’t mean it was wrong.”

“That isn’t the—”

“I am simply finished being ashamed of myself,” she said primly. Then, the finishing blow: “I would have thought a fellow mage would understand as much.”

That shut him up. He glared down at the rug. Suddenly a memory struck her—the three of them in this very room, huddled on the floor, a mahogany box between them containing their phylacteries. How they’d all held hands and smashed them together, Kinloch alumni turned Wardens freeing themselves together. Yvanne had brought in the rug to cover the stain that was probably still there. Anders had loudly said it was the ugliest thing he'd ever seen, and Yvanne had punched him on the arm.

She sighed. “Anders, wait. I’m—”

“Save it,” he bit out, turning on his heel. “I’ve heard enough.”

The door slammed. The vibrations from it nearly rattled the inkwell off Loriel’s desk. After that she tried to go back to her book, but it was no good concentrating up here. She would retire to her private laboratory space, she decided, and hang anybody else that wanted to talk to her til nightfall.

—

When she finally emerged she had gotten precious little done. Her mind still ran with echoes of what had been said in her office, unsettling her just enough to wreck her concentration. The longer she forced herself to try and focus, the worse it got, so after a time she was obliged to simply give up and go upstairs.

Yvanne sat cross-legged on the bed wearing a formless shift, a volume open on her lap. “Productive day?” she said.

“Approximately.” The shift, far too big for her, was slipping off her shoulder. Almost mindlessly, Loriel kissed the shoulder and pulled the shift up before shedding some outer layers herself. “Any luck with that spirit lore?”

“Some. The problem is that most of what I’ve got is Chantry sources.” Her nose wrinkled. “And it’s increasingly obvious that a lot is being left out. There’s all sorts of spirit traditions being talked around here. Avvar, Chasind, Rivaini...it’s hopeless figuring this stuff out without doing some legwork.”

“I’m sure you will, though,” Loriel said distractedly. “You’re very capable.”

Yvanne’s eyes flicked up to her. “I heard you had it out with Anders today.”

Loriel stiffened. “Oh, please, we did not have it out. He simply had some concerns, which I addressed.”

“Really. And here’s me remembering distinctly how a door slammed so hard this afternoon that the hinge was damaged and will need replacing.”

Loriel winced. “That bad, was it?”

Yvanne smiled slightly. “I wouldn’t worry too much about it. He’ll get over it soon enough, and things will go back to normal.”

“You really think so?” Loriel fiddled with a piece of her hair. It had grown long again of late. “I don’t know. I think he hasn’t seen me the same way since he first saw me use blood magic. He thinks I’m—”

“Well, he’s wrong, then, isn’t he? Oh, come here.” Yvanne tossed aside the Chantry-approved book of spirit lore and carded her fingers through Loriel’s hair, getting the tangles out. “You don’t really think he’s right about any of it, do you?”

“No. I think I’m doing the right thing.”

Yvanne put her hair into a loose braid, destined to come loose in the night. “Then trust in that. I do.”

“Thank you, Yvanne.”

“Wish you’d stop thanking me for stuff like this,” Yvanne sniffed. Dissatisfied with the braid she’d made, she undid it and started another, more complex one, fated to unravel even faster.

“I think I should go visit Avernus,” Loriel said, all in one breath. Then, before Yvanne could reply, “I’ve been thinking about this for a while, and I have my reservations, but I don’t think the letters are doing it. There’s some elements to his research that I think I need to see in person if I want to make any progress on the calling within the decade.”

“Oh,” Yvanne said. “You’ve been exchanging letters with Avernus?”

“Hm? Oh. Yes. I have.” Loriel blinked. “You didn’t know? It wasn’t a secret, I wasn’t hiding it, or anything.”

“No, I know you weren’t,” Yvanne said distractedly. “It must have just slipped one or both of our minds.”

“Right. So will you come with me? It isn’t far to Soldier’s Peak, we’d be back within a few days.”

“I don’t know,” she fretted. “The Keep is a little—socially fragile right now. Is it really wise for both of us to go?”

“Oh. Yes.”  Loriel glanced down. “No, you’re right, of course. You mind the Keep, I’ll go alone.”

Yvanne’s fingers tightened in Loriel’s hair. “Alone?” Loriel could tell they were thinking of the same thing. The assault on Amaranthine. The siege of Vigil’s Keep. Drake’s Fall. “No, no, no, that’s even less wise. Please... please don’t do that.”

“If you ask it of me,” Loriel said mildly. “But...it would really help the work along. And I’m sure you could find something in his collection on spirit lore, besides these useless Chantry-approved books. We could help Justice.”

Yvanne started another braid. This one, sloppier. “I suppose you’re right,” she said eventually. “Yes, alright, I’ll come with you. I’m sure Garahel can keep things running for a few days without the Vigil burning down.”

—

Yvanne and Anders still weren’t on speaking terms when she left with Loriel for Soldier’s Peak. It made her a bit sad—she was already regretting being so harsh, but remained too proud to apologize—but she doubted it would last forever. Give it a few weeks, she figured.

Besides, a little trip could be like a vacation. Even if it was to visit the mountainous frozen wasteland of a demented old blood mage with only the loosest understanding of regular human morals.

She quipped as much to Loriel, who gave her a reproachful look. “He’s not demented. He’s doing really very remarkable things.”

“You going to start sacrificing the least capable recruits to your dreadful experiments, too?” Yvanne joked.

Loriel didn’t find it particularly funny. “He doesn’t do that anymore,” she said. “He keeps complaining in his letters about how slowly everything’s going without human subjects.”

“Yes, well, I suppose we’ll find out if he’s telling the truth about that.”

“That’s the other reason I wanted to visit,” Loriel said darkly.

They took a coach, because the roads were peaceful and well-maintained these days, and why not go in some degree of comfort? Maker knew that they’d had enough walking across the whole breadth of Ferelden.

When they arrived, two days unhurried travel later, Levi Dryden and his brother Mikhael had the run of the place. As far as either of them knew—or would admit, anyway—the mage Avernus, who had quarters in the upper levels of the castle, was a perfectly ordinary Warden mage, experimenting chiefly on himself with the approval of the Warden-Commander. Who was, essentially, the only authority that mattered.

That was Grey Wardens for you. Bloody secretive lot. Apt to keep a secret blood mage in a castle and not ask too many questions.

Loriel seemed to only vaguely remember who Levi was, let alone his brother, but that was why Yvanne habitually said the names of their contacts aloud when she greeted them. It was funny to remember, sometimes, back in the Tower when Loriel was the socially adept one between the two of them. Yvanne got the report of how Soldier’s Peak was coming along, how trade and lines of communications were running, whether there were any problems that needed seeing to by the Warden-Commander—or realistically, the Warden-Lieutenant. Yvanne was vaguely hoping that there would be, but for once everything was running smoothly, and there didn't seem to be anything for her to do.

The lower levels of the fortress were certainly looking better than the last time they were there, when it had been overrun with demons and walking corpses. People were living there now, not themselves Wardens but Warden-adjacent, curious to get a glance at the legendary Warden-Commander.

Avernus still lived where he’d lived for the past two hundred years, in his tower. If he was aware of the living fortress below him, he didn’t let on about it. Did he even need to eat, Yvanne wondered? Probably not. Probably just sustained his body with blood magic, somehow. She briefly imagined what that would be like, and shuddered.

“Hello, Avernus,” she said. “Good to see you’re still alive, or whatever passes for alive. Still being a creepy old blood mage, I see. Good for you. I trust you’re well? Sacrificed anybody recently?”

Loriel nudged her disapprovingly, but Avernus didn’t seem to have registered anything she’d said.

“About time you came to visit me, Commander,” he said instead. “I knew you would, sooner or later.”

As far as either of them could tell, the Warden mage had been telling the truth when he promised to keep his experiments 'ethical'. At least Levi hadn’t reported any mysterious disappearances or anything else particularly irregular, and Loriel had intentionally not announced her visit ahead of time, just in case. Everything seemed to be above board.

On the subject of being a creepy old blood mage shut up in a tower doing dreadful experiments that would make a Chantry Mother faint dead away, Yvanne was nominally ‘pro.’ There had been a time when all her dearest fantasies involved gleeful slaughter of Templars, apostasy, illegal magic—the whole bit. If she’d met Avernus as a seventeen-year-old, she probably would have thought he was a hero just for existing.

And technically, she still felt that way. Nothing wrong with a bit of bone-chilling illegal magic. Some light demon summoning, that was fine, too. Even Uldred’s rebellion and its consequences hadn’t changed her mind. Admitting that the Chantry was right about the danger magic could pose meant admitting it could be right about other things. About mages. About what was to be done to them. Yvanne would sooner set herself on fire than come within spitting distance of admitting that. She figured, in principle, if the Chantry proscribed it, it was somebody’s moral duty to do it as hard as possible.

But she was realizing that she didn’t particularly want that somebody to be Loriel.

So Anders was right about her. So she didn’t have any principles. So what? Was that so bad? Her principles had only ever made her miserable. Why was she obliged to hold on to something that only ever hurt?

Yvanne tried following Loriel and Avernus’s discussion about blight and blood and poisoned lyrium, but she quickly lost track of it. It had gotten highly technical very quickly, reaching into concepts that Yvanne was only vaguely aware existed. No wonder Avernus wasn’t interested in talking to her. She was completely out of her depth.

Instead she perused the extensive library, looking for anything on spirit lore. It was no easy task. Many of the books were so moldy that they were little more than damp bricks of wood pulp. Others were so badly charred that their titles couldn’t be made out. Some were mostly intact, but written in such old, obscure dialects that even Yvanne’s classical education in ancient languages couldn’t help her. Some were written in scripts that she couldn’t even recognize.

One tome was written in a mostly-understandable form of ancient Tevene, and seemed promising—but was nearly as high as a man, and bolted to the table besides. Yvanne sighed and went hunting for a dictionary to cross-reference it with and take some notes.

When she couldn’t stand to stare at the unnecessarily elaborate script anymore, she spent time amongst the lower levels of the fortress, making sure that there really wasn’t anything urgent or difficult that somebody needed done. Something. Anything.

So passed the days. Yvanne found out some interesting things about spirit lore. Two times a day she pried Loriel away for meals and sunlight, which usually succeeded on the second or third try. All the while a vague anxiety grew in her, like she had abandoned her Keep, and every hour that she remained away from it was dangerous.

It was frustrating. When had she become such a homebody? Didn’t she used to crave freedom, adventure, and the wonders of the whole world?

She started gently suggesting to Loriel that perhaps they ought to think about heading home. They nearly done, Loriel assured her. Tomorrow they’d go home. Or the day after, certainly.

And so a visit of a few days stretched out into nearly a fortnight.

On the thirteenth day since their departure, Yvanne climbed to the highest tower of Soldier’s Peak, determined to lay down the law--but needn’t have bothered. When she arrived Loriel was in the process of loading her collection of reagents back into her travel box.

“There you are,” Loriel said, brushing some greyish residue off the sleeves of her rope. “I think we’re about done.”

“Oh,” Yvanne said. “Well, good. Figured lots of things out, then?”

“Ah—yes,” Loriel said distractedly, peering at a label of an opaque bottle of brown glass. “Yes, I’ve a lot to test out, when we get home. Much to do.”

“Yes, yes, I look forward to hearing of your results,” the old blood mage said, scribbling something in the margins of a leather-bound tome.

“Great. Yeah,” said Yvanne, feeling her mood lift at once as Loriel snapped the locks shot on her trunk of vials. “Here, let me get that. You haven’t eaten yet today, have you? You probably should, I’ll get things ready for departure.”

Loriel smiled. “How foolish of me to even contemplate the notion that I could get by without you.”

“Too right,” Yvanne said. “Come on, then.”

The scratching of Avernus’s quill paused. “Ah—I nearly forgot. What did you end up using my little concoction for? I can tell that you didn’t bother to drink it.”

Yvanne stared in blank incomprehension. But understanding was dawning in Loriel’s eyes.

“Nothing in particular,” she answered.

“Threw it away, did you?” the old blood mage snorted. “Thought as much.”

“No...no, I still have it.”

“Hm,” sniffed the blood mage. “Perhaps not quite so foolish, then. I was quite proud of that recipe.”

Loriel blinked, sowly. “Oh...interesting. I’ll take a look, perhaps.”

“But we’d really better be going,” Yvanne said loudly, although she needn’t have bothered. Avernus was no longer paying attention to either of them.

It was too late to depart that day, so they instead left first thing in the morning. All that night and following morning, Loriel’s mind was somewhere else.

“Productive fortnight, then?” Yvanne said, breaking the growing silence.

Loriel started, lifting her cheek from her fist. “Hm? Oh. Yes. Yes, it was.” She sounded like she was about to elaborate, but trailed off. “I do wish I’d had the wherewithal to ask about what that concoction in the vial was actually supposed to do. It just caught me so off-guard, I’d completely forgotten about it. In a future letter, I suppose…”

Yvanne blanched. “You’re not actually thinking of drinking it, are you?”

Her eyes glinted with amusement.  “As I recall, you were the one that dared me to drink it in the first place.”

“I was bloody well joking! Maker, Loriel—”

“Oh, calm down,” she laughed. “It isn’t that serious.”

“You’re cruel and wretched,” Yvanne complained. “I don’t know why I ever married you.”

The rest of the coach ride passed uneventfully. They were making better time on the way back, for which Yvanne was glad. A few hours in, she dozed off against Loriel’s shoulder, then in her lap, falling into a sticky state of half-dream and half-waking.

Only when the coach suddenly stopped did Yvanne realize that she’d fallen entirely asleep, and that it was hours later. “What’s going on?” she mumbled, drowsy.

“I don’t know,” said Loriel.

The coach door opened. It was Garahel, pale-faced. So they were back.

And something was wrong.

“Commander,” he said, bowing his head. “It’s good to see you back. We’ve been watching the roads for your arrival. We thought…something’s happened.”

“What’s going on, Garahel?” Yvanne demanded.

“You had better come see.”

—

In the growing dark,  it was hard to see the blood. It appeared not red but black, though not all of it had dried yet; much of it had mixed with the mud and the dew. It was more readily smelled than seen, the distinct reek of iron tingeing the far stronger scents of human waste and rot. The bodies themselves were easier, though not a one of them remained in tact. A limb here, part of a torso there, something still recognizable as a head there.

They’d seen worse. The darkspawn did worse, in greater numbers. This was only four men, four Grey Wardens. They’d seen battlefields strewn with hundreds, witnessed horrors beyond mortal ken.

Nothing had ever sickened Yvanne so much in her life.

“Anders did this?” she said numbly.

“We believe so,” Garahel said. “He was on patrol with them.”

“I thought I ordered them not to be put on patrol together,” Loriel said sharply. “What happened?”

“I don’t know, Commander. But we have multiple witnesses attesting that he was last seen with them. I have men looking for him. No success yet.”

“Is there anything else I should know about?”

Loriel had meant it sardonically, but it seemed Garahel wasn't done delivering bad news.

“Kristoff’s body was found in the courtyard a few days ago.” Yvanne took her eyes off the carnage to look up at him. “It was already in an advanced state of decay. His ashes have been returned to his widow.”

“I see,” Loriel said coolly. “We’ll investigate this, Garahel. Please leave us for now.”

If he found the order strange, he didn’t show it. He bowed, and departed.

Yvanne was still staring at the carnage. Loriel touched her gently on the arm. “Yvanne, I am... so sorry. This is entirely my fault. If I hadn’t held us up, if I’d agreed to leave Soldier’s Peak when you wanted to, this would never have happened. I don’t know what to say. If you’re furious with me, I understand.”

Yvanne produced a dry, ugly bark of a laugh. “You know, love, one of these days you’re going to have to realize that you aren’t responsible for every horrible thing that happens in this world.”

“Maybe I am,” Loriel said. She’d meant it as a joke, but it had some out a little manic and unsteady. Yvanne didn’t respond. She tightened her grip on her arm. She needed to fix this, somehow. “I haven’t been studying necromancy recently, but I know a few rare spells. It might not work, but I think I can raise one of these corpses, ask it what really happened—”

“Stop it,” Yvanne said, shaking her off. “Just stop it! No necromancy, no corpse interviews, none of that! This is already awful enough as it is. What’s the point of dragging some poor sod out from whatever rest he’s made it to just so he can confirm what’s obvious enough?”

“ Is it obvious?” Loriel said softly.

“I should damn well fucking say so,” Yvanne said. “Seems pretty clear to me. Our Anders got himself possessed, dragged poor Justice into it, lost his damn mind, and tore apart a handful of innocent boys because his paranoid fucking ass couldn’t handle life on the outside of the tower walls.”

Loriel winced. “You really think he’d do something like this?”

There was a moment, and both of them were aware of it, even if later they both pretended not to be. In that moment they both thought, no. That Yvanne’s explanation was plausible, tempting, and wrong. After all, it didn’t take much inventiveness to generate an alternative version of events, one where Anders’ paranoia was entirely correct, where he had no choice, where he acted in self-defense.

But if it were true, that thing that they both were thinking—if it were true—then it meant that this really was Loriel’s fault. That she had known about everything, about Anders’ fears and Rolan and Justice, and had let it happen anyway. Had simply gone off to Soldier’s Peak on her own business and ignored it. And it meant that Yvanne had known, too, and closed her eyes and trailed after Loriel like she always did. Because that way she could take the path of least resistance, and still call herself virtuous. Devoted. Reliable.

If it were true, it would tear them apart. Maybe not right away, but someday visible on the horizon. After all, who could live with that self knowledge?

If it were true.

“Maybe not the Anders I knew,” Yvanne said eventually. “But we’ve both changed. Maybe I didn’t know him as well as I thought I did.”

“Oh, Yvanne…” Loriel sighed.

Yvanne inhaled, closing her eyes. “Can we please just burn these corpses and go home? Maker, I’m going to have to write their families, aren’t I?”

“I’ll do that,” Loriel told her, rubbing small circles into her shoulders. “I’m the Commander. It’s my job.”

“Doing that now, are you?” Yvanne muttered.  Loriel ignored that, because she was hurting, and didn’t mean it, and anyway, she was right.

Maybe, she thought desperately, maybe Yvanne was right. Maybe they really were just innocent boys. Anders really did have a tendency for paranoia. Who was she to say?

The most difficult part was gathering up the limbs. Some had been flown well out of the clearing. There was probably no danger of anything possessing a body so dismembered, but corpses were to be burned. It was proper.

They could have had their men do this for them, but magical fire burned hotter and brighter, and this way it was over quicker. A few weeks from now, this clearing would heal. It would be green and peaceful again.

Yvanne remembered the time she had shown Justice the sparrow’s nest. Was that spot around here, somewhere? She felt like retching all over again.

When the pyre had reduced the remains to nothing but ash and memory, they doused the embers.

At some point, Loriel took Yvanne’s hand, and she didn’t shake her off.

“What are we going to do about this?” Yvanne said hollowly.

“I don’t know.”

“Should we look for him? Send men to bring him in?”

“We could do that.”

“And what would we do even if we found him? Execute him?”

“Is that what you want?” Loriel asked.

Yvanne sniffed. “No. Of course I don’t.” She rubbed at her eyes. “But he could hurt someone. We’d be responsible.” She was aware of who she sounded like, and was already busily hating herself for it.

“You saw what he did to those men,” Loriel said quietly. “If we send more after him, they’ll likely never come back.”

The thought of sending actual Templars after a boy they’d both grown up with was so vile that it didn’t even brook mentioning.

“So we cover it up.”

“We’ll make up a story. Something about secret Warden business.”

“What about Garahel?”

“Do you trust him?”

“I want to say yes, but…”

“Then I have a spell for that.”

“Alright. I suppose...alright.”

Loriel hugged her, squeezing tight. “I’m sorry this happened.”

“It wasn’t your fault.” Then, very quietly: “He was my friend. They were both my friends.”

What could she possibly do but hold on tighter? “It’ll be alright, love. I don’t know how, but it will.”

And it was. For a time.