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peopleofthedas2010-12-30 12:49 am
amhran_comhrac) wrote in peopleofthedas2010-12-30 12:49 am
Apostates of Amaranthine: Chapter 89
Title: Apostates of Amaranthine: Chapter 89- "An unusual form of hereditary madness."
Characters: Anders/f!Amell (Maggie)
Rating: M/AO (this chapter somewhere between E and T)
Word Count: around 6000
Summary: Unlikely hero Maggie Amell attempts to rebuild the Grey Wardens and deal with continuing threats from the darkspawn, while trying to fit into a world that's a far cry from the tower. All this while the Chantry seems to wait around every corner, eager to remind her and Anders just what they think of mages who manage to escape Circle control.
In this chapter: Clearly the problem is Maggie's. Everyone loves deathbed vigils and religious maniacs, don't they?
I wanted to add a HUGE note of thanks to all my readers. This year was the first time I'd done any creative writing since high school and I'm constantly astonished by the response I've gotten. The Dragon Age community is full of so many fantastic, supportive, creative, brilliant people. I consider myself lucky to have found it.
I stood motionless, staring and frozen to the floor. In the dim light I could just make out a woman in the bed who was as close to being my exact double as anyone twice my age could be. Well, twice my age and weight, to be more specific.
"Come closer, please," she said in that same strained, exhausted voice. I nodded and somehow forced my legs to work, shuffling across the floor to a chair not far from the bed. I suspected that was where whoever was keeping vigil over her was expected to sit. Now that I was closer the differences were more apparent. There were differences that, I was sure, related to whatever she was sick with. Her skin was waxy and her face rounder than mine, but in a way that suggested it was also swollen, not simply heavier. Beyond that, I could see her eyes were blue-grey, not green. Her nose was small and upturned, not sharply pointed. My chin was more narrow and forehead higher, her hairline was more rounded while mine was peaked. Her hair, of course, was mostly grey, but there were still a few stands of what might have been black streaked through.
It was probably rude of me to stand silently and gape at her, but I had no idea what to say.
"You, um, you can sit down," she said after a moment. "If you want." I nodded and dropped into a chair without the slightest semblance of grace.
Alice tried to sit up but grunted with pain and fell back to the pillow before she got very far. Glancing at me she offered a resigned frown. "It's funny how little I can do now." I managed to shake the fog from my mind, jumping up and helping her into a sitting position. "Sorry," she said after a moment, winding bony fingers through a lock of grey hair and pushing it back behind her ear. Turning her head slightly, she stared at me. I didn't complain or look away. After all, I'd done the same to her. "I feel like a fool," she said finally. "I've been dreaming of talking to you for years, and now I don't know what to say." That made her laugh, until it triggered a painful sounding coughing fit.
"Take your time," I managed to say.
She actually gave me a crooked grin at that. "Time is something I don't have."
"Sorry," I said quickly, realizing how cruel my words might have seemed. I couldn't even tell why she was still alive even now, she smelled like something long since dead. Embarrassed, I pushed my hair from my face and looked at my knees. "My husband is a healer, he might be able to—"
"Buy me another week? Two?" she gave me a cynical grin, eyebrow arched. For some reason it was easier to accept that she was my mother than it was to accept I was even remotely related to Hob, which I only seemed to be able to grasp on the most intellectual and emotionless of levels even now. Probably because the resemblance between she and I was so obvious. "Your husband? That was the blonde man I saw you with in Amaranthine?" I nodded. "He's a good man? Treats you well?"
"He is," I said. "He does."
"You love him?"
"Of course," I said. "Married him, didn't I?"
She shrugged slightly. "I don't know how things work with people like you."
"Mages usually don't get married at all; the Chantry doesn't like the idea of us having children."
"Not mages. Nobles. I know full well how mages live, it is hereditary you know."
"I'm barely a noble," I said. "And my title isn't inherited so no one would want to arrange a marriage with me—" I froze, staring at her. "What was that last part?"
"Magic is hereditary," she said quietly.
I looked at her more closely. "You're not…"
"My father," she whispered. "He was already dead when I met Hob. Templars. I never thought it was worth mentioning. Until…"
"Until my brother was one," I said. She nodded, wiping her eyes.
"I had no idea Hob would react like he did. You were just a babe in arms at the time. Not even two months old. When Loghain showed signs I told him we could hide him, keep him with us. My sister Peggy— we named you after her— she's an apostate. She would have helped. He was furious." She blinked back more tears. "He took him to the Chantry and left him there. He told me we were being punished because of my family's sin. Since we hid mages our son became one. He…" she trailed off, looking outside. "He said I should be glad he wasn't running my sister in to them…" She wrung her hands. "I knew the templars would kill her, she was over twenty years old and had never set foot in the Circle. I thought… I don't know… I thought this way at least no one had to die, so I didn't fight him. He doesn't understand. He's a very religious man."
"A religious man who beats children?" I raised an eyebrow. She blushed. "The Knight Commander told me about that. He told me because he was horrified. The Knight Commander was horrified by his treatment of a mage. Greagoir's a decent man, but even so that's… um… that's really not a normal state of affairs." She sighed. "I remembered it anyways, though. Not as bad as it apparently was, but I remembered some of it."
"He truly never forgave himself for that," she said quietly. "I never really forgave him, either. That was why he was willing to move here. He thought… I don't know… he thought it would make me happy again. It would make up for that. And that if I was close to my babies maybe it would make things right somehow. Even if you didn't know I was here." She sighed. "It wasn't you he was attacking, not to him. It was the magic itself. He was so mad. He loved you. You and your brother. To him, magic took his children away." She looked at me. "Does it matter much at this point? No changing the past."
"True," I said. "But he hasn't made much secret of his feelings about mages," I said. "He's been civil, but it's pretty obvious he found me to make you happy, not because he had any interest in seeing me himself."
"And you?"
"You never did anything bad to me. At least, not that I can remember."
"Can you remember much? About me, I mean?"
"Not really," I said. "I remember sitting on a counter. You gave me a cookie while I watched you cook. I remember you crying when I cast my first spell, and when they took me away. I remember thinking you were tall." Shrugging, I bit my nail. "You used to smell like apples."
"And now I smell like an open grave," she sighed. Alice did smile a bit then. "I don't think anyone but a child would ever call me tall."
"So that's where I get it from. I have elves under my command that are taller than me. Well… two of them are."
She laughed until coughing again. "Under your command," she finally managed to get out. "When you were fistfighting with the boy next door I never would have expected that to turn into a career as a great military leader. Although maybe I should have- you did always win." She went silent for a moment. "When you showed signs I had to beg him not to turn my sister in. He was so sure that was the reason you were a mage: the Maker was punishing us for helping to keep her secret and naming you after her. I was going to leave. I couldn't stand the thought of the Chantry stealing another of my babies. Take you and go hide, we could have moved somewhere into the woods, somewhere secret." I waited for her to go on. Her voice cracked. "I was scared," she finally said. "I didn't think I could do it alone, and I didn't want to call more attention to Peggy. I… I can't really read, I can't run a farm alone, I don't have any skills. How would I manage? We'd both starve to death, or freeze in the first winter." She bit her lip, tears on her cheeks. "I even thought about going to the city, figured I wasn't bad looking, maybe I could get a job there as a—" she made a face, unable to complete the sentence. I got her point, though. "It's ugly work, but I would have gone on my knees for every man in Denerim it to keep you. But how could I have kept you hidden in a big city like that? My da and sister were mages, but I'm not. I don't know how to train a mage, I don't know how to keep you hidden and safe."
"It isn't your fault," I said. Mostly because she was dying and it was what she wanted to hear, but really, listening to her I could see that it wasn't. What could one illiterate woman do to keep a mage safe on her own?
She snorted. "Not a day passes when I don't wonder what I could've done different."
"Nothing," I said finally. "Anders, that's my husband, his mother hid him. Hid him until he was twelve or so." The guilt in her expression deepened. "No—" I said, "I'm not saying that to say you should have. I mean, she tried to do what you wanted and, well, it didn't work. Your father could hide your sister since he could train her himself. We… we do need training. Badly. Horrible things can happen around an untrained mage. Redcliffe was almost destroyed because the Arlessa hid her son and he became possessed. Not just that, though. Magic, well… it's like sweat, or a facial expression. Sometimes it just… slips out. If you're angry, scared, or under threat you'll cast a spell without even wanting to. Training can teach you not to, but even with training if you're tired or distracted it can still happen. We have to pay attention every moment of the day to keep it in check." I figured Anders wouldn't mind me sharing this. "He never knew his father. It may have been a mage, but his mother raised him alone. It wasn't easy for her, I'm sure. Especially since she was an elf. I know even the other elves would have looked down on her for having a human's child, so she didn't even have her family to help. When a boy said something horrible to him in the street about her he hit him with lightning, without even realizing it. I would have done something like that eventually. Probably something much worse, really, since he's mostly a healer, and I'm mostly a battle mage. My natural affinity is all for the most deadly spells known. I could have killed someone… probably more than one person."
"With one spell?"
"Without even trying," I confirmed. "I launched a fireball at a group of bandits that surprised me once, back during the blight when I let myself get distracted on watch. I hadn't even realized what I was doing, I just acted. Killed half a dozen instantly. And nearly burnt our camp to the ground in the process."
She sighed. "Thank you," Alice managed after a moment. "I… I do appreciate that. I don't know, maybe I should have just taken you to Peggy. She had a life, but I know she would have helped me. I just worried more mages together would be more of a risk."
"Templars can sense when someone's a mage. It would have been." She sighed but didn't say anything more. I couldn't hold myself back any more, I had to ask. "Is your sister still—"
"No," she said. "Not the templars, though. Her village was attacked by the darkspawn during the blight. Everyone went into the Chantry, she stayed outside with the militia to help protect them. She'd been their healer for years, so most suspected she was a mage already. It…" her face clouded. "It wouldn't have mattered by then anyways. The darkspawn killed her. One of the men wrote me, Hob read me the letter. Said they never breeched the Chantry doors. Called her a hero."
I sighed, leaning back into the chair and pushing my hair from my face. "I don't blame you," I said finally. "The system is wrong, but you had no choice."
"It is wrong," she agreed. "But that'll change. Everything changes." She looked at me. "The whole world knows what you did during the blight, and that you had two more mages with you. Peggy helped her neighbors and she was just the village healer. I'd bet most apostates did the same. Went out of their way, risked exposure to save others. People know now." I thought about that, she was probably right. Even Jowan, who had even more reason to hide than most apostates and hadn't exactly been known for his bravery at the time, walked the length of Ferelden many times over guiding refugees North ahead of the darkspawn horde and using his magic to protect them. If people had a personal connection to a mage like that, someone who helped them specifically during the blight… well, that would certainly account for changing attitudes a lot more than any distant pedestaled hero like what they'd made out of me.
"It's already changing," I said.
"I wish it had happened soon enough for me to see it," she mused. "I don't know. I feel like I should say something about how I've had a good life, and I'm at peace and ready to go to the Maker." Her tone of voice left no question as to what she thought about that statement. "But… I haven't, I'm not, and I really couldn't give a toss about the Maker one way or the bother, if He even exists. He's never done right by me before, don't see why he'd start now."
I didn't really know what to say about that, so I didn't say anything.
"I'm sorry, I didn't want to see you just to complain."
"It's all right."
"No," she said. "I have no right complaining about my life to you. And it wasn't all bad. I had a good marriage, at least."
I wasn't able to stop myself from making a sound of disbelief.
"He's not a bad man. He's not." She sounded adamant, like she expected to convince me. "We never agreed about magic, and the law is on his side. But he's always been good to me otherwise." She closed her eyes. "No accounting for love, anyways. Not like you can control who you end up falling for. He moved here so I could be closer to you, he took me to Amaranthine so I could see you up close… he went to find you now." She sighed. "He's not a bad man. Hob can't help that he was raised to believe all the Chantry teaches. I know it killed him to see me looking at that tower and crying. I tried not to, but… it looks so damned awful. So harsh. Was it horrible?"
"I got out eventually," I said.
"I see you've inherited your father's tact," she said drily. "Just as well, though. I always preferred harsh truth to soft lies."
"Sorry," I muttered. "It, um, wasn't that bad. Just… don't ask Anders about it."
She raised an eyebrow. "Very convincing. At least I know you turned out honest." She coughed a few times. "Just… before I die, I wanted you to know I didn't want to give you up. I would have hid you, fought them… it's just…" She shook her head. "I'm sorry. I should have fought harder."
"There was nothing you could have done," I repeated. She nodded but had another fit of coughing before she could say anything else.
Catherine poked her head in. I hadn't even heard her in the house anymore. "Once she starts coughing like that it's usually not long before she falls asleep for the night."
"Can you get Anders?" I asked her. She gave me a blank look. "My husband."
"Ohh, right," she said. "Sure thing. I'll even keep my hands to myself," she said with a smirk.
"Good, then you can keep your hands," I replied, matching her expression. She chuckled and went outside. Returning a moment later, Anders immediately walked to my side, resting his hand on my shoulder.
"Uncanny," he muttered to himself looking at the now sleeping woman in the bed.
"Isn't it?" Catherine agreed.
"Is there anything that can be done?" I asked him.
He walked around to the other side of the bed. "Can I get some light?" I stood and unshouldered my staff, holding it up and illuminating the room with its glow. Catherine gasped in surprise; she had yet to see either of us cast a spell. Perhaps she'd never seen anyone cast a spell before at all. It had to be strange looking. "Perfect," Anders said. He ran his hands over her, blue light fading to white and then back to blue again. Taking a closer look at her now-sleeping face, he stood up straighter and gave me a significant glance, inclining his head to the door. I followed him out.
"Well?"
He shook his head. "Maybe something could have been done a year or two ago… but…"
"What is it?" Catherine asked. "The healer at the Chantry said it was a lot of things all happening at once."
"Well, it is, technically," he said. "She's got the sugar disease. At one time that could have been treated, but because it wasn't it caused other problems. Her kidneys are already dead inside her. Her heart isn't working properly anymore. The coughing is because it's pumping a tiny bit of blood into her lungs with each beat."
"There's nothing anyone can do?" Catherine asked.
"I can make her more comfortable, but that's about it. I frankly don't see how she's still alive now, to be honest, but people can sometimes hold on if they're waiting for something specific. She may have just been waiting for Hob to get home."
"Probably," Catherine said. "She sleeps most of the time now, when she woke up before it was just to ask where he was. This is the most she's said to anyone in ages."
She did sleep the rest of that night, and most of the following day. Anders had told me she didn't have long, so it seemed like we could stick it out. He rode up to Redcliffe to see if anything had been sent for us and to send an update to the Keep, but I stayed behind. Catherine had taken it upon herself to teach me how to cook.
"It's a lost cause," I insisted.
"If you can make a potion you can make a soup," she said.
I shrugged and did what she said, chopping vegetables. When we began adding them to the pot I tapped her on the shoulder. "That is something I'm sure I can do," I said, pointing at the wood in the stove. She stood aside, replacing the tinderbox on the shelf, while I lit the fire.
"That has to be handy," she observed.
"Usually I'm using it to far more destructive ends."
She paused after wrestling the large pot on the stove. "What's it like?"
I hated that question. How could I explain what it was like being a mage when I had no idea what it was like not being one? "Hard to say," I told her. "It's all I've ever known."
Catherine raised an eyebrow. "Not being a mage. I might as well ask what it's like to have black hair at that point if I want to waste time with stupid questions that have no answers. I mean being a Grey Warden."
"Oh, that," I said. "I like it, but it isn't for everyone."
"I can imagine," she said. "It seems exciting."
"It can be," I said. "Not easy, though."
"I just get so damned bored here," she said.
"There's a whole lot to do between 'cooking for your brothers' and 'Grey Wardens,'" I said. "We give up a lot to be what we are. We're not the same as normal people anymore, we're changed. It has some serious consequences."
"Like?"
"Like I can't tell you unless you want to become one of us and once I do there's no going back."
"Ouch."
"Yep," I said. "I don't mind. We fight the greatest evil in the world. It's a good cause." I paused. "You're fast and you're quiet. If you're even passable with a blade I'd find a place for you, no question, since weapon skills can always be learned. But it may be a bit too exciting for you. There's a lot to do out there, though."
"Not much for someone like me," she said. "Everyone wants a warrior for their guards, someone who can use a greatsword or a shield. I can't use either. I like daggers."
"You good with dogs? You could be an ash warrior," I said.
"Tried that," she said. "I don't know, I'm better with sneaking around."
I had an idea. "Ever think about being a spy? Like a bard?"
"A bard?" She raised an eyebrow. "A traitor to Ferelden? Absolutely not!"
"Ferelden uses spies, too, you know."
"We do!" her eyes went wide. "No!" Catherine paused. "Really?" I nodded. "Well, you would know better than me," she admitted. "Wow. Never would have guessed that."
"If you're interested I could get you in touch with the right people."
"Now that's a thought…" she looked intrigued.
"You want to be a Warden, I promise I'll find you a place," I said. "We can train you on weapons, but speed like yours can't be taught. But if that sounds better write to me and I'll set it up for you. The Crown's top spy and assassin are both friends. Good people, they do a lot to protect Ferelden. Fought with me in the blight." She nodded, grinning widely.
Alice would wake for an hour or two each day, looking progressively worse. Depending on who was already there, she would ask for her husband, one of my cousins, or me. Anders did his best to keep her comfortable.
Hob avoided both Anders and I like we had a plague ever since we returned. If she asked for me, he left the room. If she asked for him he would claim it was too crowded until I left. It wasn't until the sixth day that we were in the same room once again. I had been sitting with her, Anders and Catherine with me, when she asked for him and the rest of my cousins. He gave Catherine the excuse about it being crowded but Anders stopped him midway through.
"You really want to play this game when she has hours left?"
Hob's mouth snapped closed. "Are you sure?" he said after a moment.
"As much as anyone could be," Anders replied. "These things aren't exact."
He nodded and entered the room, wiping one of his eyes as he sat next to her, opposite from me. She didn't say much for the rest of the day, and when she did it didn't make much sense. She spoke to Anders briefly, calling him Darlan, she called Catherine Peggy. I must have looked surprised about why she thought my husband was the king who died fighting to stop the invading Orlesins until Catherine leaned towards me and whispered "her brother."
Finally she whispered with Hob. He had his head on her pillow, close enough that their foreheads touched, and brushed her hair back from her face as they spoke quietly. We all tried to stay back, not wanting to eavesdrop.
He called Anders' name. I looked over, Alice had become very still. "I think… she might be…" he stood up, hand over his mouth. Anders stepped forward, putting his fingers against her throat for a moment.
"I'm sorry," he said, stepping away from her.
Hob nodded, covering his face with both hands. "Can… can you all leave me alone for a bit?"
We silently filed out into the next room. Catherine closed the door quietly, but even with it shut we could still hear him crying. Catherine sighed and retrieved a box from a sideboard, unlocking it with a key on her wrist. A small pile of coins sat inside. "I don't think this is enough," she sighed.
Anders looked over at her. "For?"
"The funeral," she said. "Mother Hannah said it would be fifty if we wanted her to have a private pyre. I guess they have to pay the men who collect the wood and put it up, and I'm sure the Chantry takes their cut." She looked disgusted.
Without a word Anders stood up and walked over, reaching into his pocket as he moved. Dropping a few coins into the box, he turned around and returned to sit next to me. "I only had six ten sovereign pieces on me," he whispered. "A decent funeral will be at least a hundred."
I reached into my own pocket, leaning forward and dropping a handful of coins into the box. "That should be enough," I said.
"Thank you," she said quietly. "I hate to think of her on the pauper pyre." I nodded, agreeing with her. I wasn't entirely sure how I felt. Knowing she didn't want me to be taken away was surprising, and something of a comfort. Not as surprising as finding out I apparently came from a family of apostates, but since they were all dead there wasn't much I could do with regards to that revelation. And not much of a comfort since really, she waited until a week before she died to tell me. "I won't tell Hob where the money came from," she added a moment later, almost as an afterthought.
"Good idea," Charles spoke up. "You know he'd be itching for more."
She nodded. "He was thinking since you're a noble you'd start supporting the lot of us. I'm guessing you aren't half as rich as he thinks, though."
I nodded. "Most nobles own their property, I don't. I don't really own anything but my clothes, books and gear. I couldn't afford to support someone if I wanted to."
"Not surprised," she said.
We stayed for the funeral. It was, thanks to Anders and I, a very nice service. "How do you feel?" Anders asked me as we laid in bed in the small attic room of my cousin Charles' house.
"I don't know," I said. "So, um, I guess I feel conflicted?" He chuckled. "I suppose I'd feel more if I knew her more. One week isn't really enough to start thinking of her as my mother, you know?"
"True," he agreed. "It was good we came, though. Your cousins seem, um… interesting."
"Interesting?"
"They're all insane, Mags. Completely bloody mad."
"They seem perfectly fine to me."
"Well of course they do. It's clearly a very unusual form of hereditary madness that you also share in." He smirked at me, pulling me closer to him when I made a face. "Oh, calm down. I'm teasing. They seem perfectly fine, especially if you're fond of extremely loud people who brawl if you look at them wrong and proposition anything that moves." He paused. "Like you."
"I do not proposition anything that moves!" I said. Anders raised an eyebrow. "Well, not anymore. Why would I? No one else would be as good as you. And I certainly wouldn't love them. Although this is one of those times I wonder why it is I love you."
"Cruel, cruel woman," Anders said, running a hand through my hair. "Don't mind me, I'm trying to cheer you up. I know this hasn't been easy for you."
"I'll be fine," I said. "But thanks." He kissed me and settled back into the bed. Anders was soon asleep. Feeling restless, I got up and slipped back into a set of robes, ducking out of the house. I don't know what I planned to do, beyond sitting at the edge of the water. I think I just wanted to be alone with my thoughts, perhaps get a nice bit of self pity worked up. I hadn't expected Hob to find me not long after I sat down.
"Sorry," he said quietly. "Didn't mean to interrupt."
"Interrupt what? I'm just sitting here," I said.
"What happened to you?" he said after a moment of silence.
"A lot of things have happened to me," I said. "You'll have to narrow it down."
"You're not right," was all he said. I looked over, raising an eyebrow. "You look so much like your mother when you do that," he sighed. "But no, you aren't right. You may be a big fancy hero, but I would have raised you better than that Circle did. You've got a foul mouth. You take the Maker's name in vain."
"I'm hardly the only one who does that," I countered.
He snorted. "That's the least of it. You've got blasphemous ideas. You're not moral. You took an elf to your bed like you're no better than some common whore, you married a… a half breed. And from what I see you're not even a proper wife for someone like that. It's not right. I would have raised you properly. Way I see it, you're no better than that fool Catherine." I shook my head, looking at the water. "Nothing to say for yourself?"
I did laugh then. "Just thinking… I'm pretty lucky you didn't have a hand in raising me. And considering how much I've fought so people didn't have to give up their children, those aren't easy words to say." He didn't reply. "I don't appreciate being called a whore, though." He snorted, obviously not caring what I thought. I laughed. "Whores charge. I have no illusions about how normal people might see me, but I know what I am."
He snorted. "Figures you'd say something like that. You were always wild, even as a girl. The would have needed a firm hand to keep you in line, and it seems like them mages couldn't be bothered." He sighed. "You seem to get everything you want out of life, just handed to you. You twist people around until they believe what you want them to. You don't know what it's like to suffer, like us normal people do."
Rolling my eyes, I looked over at him. "You're completely right," I said. "I've never starved. I've never been a wanted fugitive. I've never been run through by a darkspawn sword. I've never been picked up and thrown by an ogre. I've never been clawed by an archdemon or bit by a werewolf. I've never been held prisoner and tortured for weeks on end by templars, and I've certainly never been raped by one while they made my husband watch. My life is perfect. Completely perfect. I'm sure I'll live to be a cheerful old lady and die in my own comfortable bed, and I absolutely won't die young in battle against darkspawn. Nope, not at all." Making a face I added "you know, you're really an asshole."
He was silent for a long time. Finally Hob spoke up again. "I guess your life hasn't been as easy as I thought," he said. "But Maker forgive me, since I know you're my blood, I still can't say I much like you even knowing all that."
"Well, it's quite mutual," I said. "You're an ignorant bigot and a racist. You're violent, but only when you know it's against someone weaker than you are. From all I could see my mother deserved better. You put the Orlesian chantry above your blood kin, that's not right." Maybe I was being a little manipulative.
"Even Loghain Mac Tir believed in the Chantry." His voice was stubborn. I glared at him, furious.
"Loghain Mac Tir and I lived and fought side by side for months. He saw no difference between the men and women in our group, or between the elves, humans, dwarves, and mages. He liked or disliked people based on who they were, not what they were. His final words were to call me: a foul mouthed, blaspheming mage that made no secret about sharing her bed nightly with an Antivan elf, his friend. Don't you dare assign beliefs to the man when you're speaking to someone who actually knew him. His memory deserves better than being used by others to justify their own prejudice." Disgusted, I stood up. "You and me? We're done. We're nothing. As far as I'm concerned I've got a handful of cousins and nothing more. My only parent was sent to the Maker this morning, and I'll be gone after sunrise." Turning, I stormed back inside.
The next morning my cousins came out to say goodbye. Catherine promised to write when she decided what she wanted to do with her future, and we all made a vague promise from all of us that we would gather at some undetermined point in the future.
As our wagon rolled off towards home I thought I saw Hob watching through the window.
Characters: Anders/f!Amell (Maggie)
Rating: M/AO (this chapter somewhere between E and T)
Word Count: around 6000
Summary: Unlikely hero Maggie Amell attempts to rebuild the Grey Wardens and deal with continuing threats from the darkspawn, while trying to fit into a world that's a far cry from the tower. All this while the Chantry seems to wait around every corner, eager to remind her and Anders just what they think of mages who manage to escape Circle control.
In this chapter: Clearly the problem is Maggie's. Everyone loves deathbed vigils and religious maniacs, don't they?
I wanted to add a HUGE note of thanks to all my readers. This year was the first time I'd done any creative writing since high school and I'm constantly astonished by the response I've gotten. The Dragon Age community is full of so many fantastic, supportive, creative, brilliant people. I consider myself lucky to have found it.
I stood motionless, staring and frozen to the floor. In the dim light I could just make out a woman in the bed who was as close to being my exact double as anyone twice my age could be. Well, twice my age and weight, to be more specific.
"Come closer, please," she said in that same strained, exhausted voice. I nodded and somehow forced my legs to work, shuffling across the floor to a chair not far from the bed. I suspected that was where whoever was keeping vigil over her was expected to sit. Now that I was closer the differences were more apparent. There were differences that, I was sure, related to whatever she was sick with. Her skin was waxy and her face rounder than mine, but in a way that suggested it was also swollen, not simply heavier. Beyond that, I could see her eyes were blue-grey, not green. Her nose was small and upturned, not sharply pointed. My chin was more narrow and forehead higher, her hairline was more rounded while mine was peaked. Her hair, of course, was mostly grey, but there were still a few stands of what might have been black streaked through.
It was probably rude of me to stand silently and gape at her, but I had no idea what to say.
"You, um, you can sit down," she said after a moment. "If you want." I nodded and dropped into a chair without the slightest semblance of grace.
Alice tried to sit up but grunted with pain and fell back to the pillow before she got very far. Glancing at me she offered a resigned frown. "It's funny how little I can do now." I managed to shake the fog from my mind, jumping up and helping her into a sitting position. "Sorry," she said after a moment, winding bony fingers through a lock of grey hair and pushing it back behind her ear. Turning her head slightly, she stared at me. I didn't complain or look away. After all, I'd done the same to her. "I feel like a fool," she said finally. "I've been dreaming of talking to you for years, and now I don't know what to say." That made her laugh, until it triggered a painful sounding coughing fit.
"Take your time," I managed to say.
She actually gave me a crooked grin at that. "Time is something I don't have."
"Sorry," I said quickly, realizing how cruel my words might have seemed. I couldn't even tell why she was still alive even now, she smelled like something long since dead. Embarrassed, I pushed my hair from my face and looked at my knees. "My husband is a healer, he might be able to—"
"Buy me another week? Two?" she gave me a cynical grin, eyebrow arched. For some reason it was easier to accept that she was my mother than it was to accept I was even remotely related to Hob, which I only seemed to be able to grasp on the most intellectual and emotionless of levels even now. Probably because the resemblance between she and I was so obvious. "Your husband? That was the blonde man I saw you with in Amaranthine?" I nodded. "He's a good man? Treats you well?"
"He is," I said. "He does."
"You love him?"
"Of course," I said. "Married him, didn't I?"
She shrugged slightly. "I don't know how things work with people like you."
"Mages usually don't get married at all; the Chantry doesn't like the idea of us having children."
"Not mages. Nobles. I know full well how mages live, it is hereditary you know."
"I'm barely a noble," I said. "And my title isn't inherited so no one would want to arrange a marriage with me—" I froze, staring at her. "What was that last part?"
"Magic is hereditary," she said quietly.
I looked at her more closely. "You're not…"
"My father," she whispered. "He was already dead when I met Hob. Templars. I never thought it was worth mentioning. Until…"
"Until my brother was one," I said. She nodded, wiping her eyes.
"I had no idea Hob would react like he did. You were just a babe in arms at the time. Not even two months old. When Loghain showed signs I told him we could hide him, keep him with us. My sister Peggy— we named you after her— she's an apostate. She would have helped. He was furious." She blinked back more tears. "He took him to the Chantry and left him there. He told me we were being punished because of my family's sin. Since we hid mages our son became one. He…" she trailed off, looking outside. "He said I should be glad he wasn't running my sister in to them…" She wrung her hands. "I knew the templars would kill her, she was over twenty years old and had never set foot in the Circle. I thought… I don't know… I thought this way at least no one had to die, so I didn't fight him. He doesn't understand. He's a very religious man."
"A religious man who beats children?" I raised an eyebrow. She blushed. "The Knight Commander told me about that. He told me because he was horrified. The Knight Commander was horrified by his treatment of a mage. Greagoir's a decent man, but even so that's… um… that's really not a normal state of affairs." She sighed. "I remembered it anyways, though. Not as bad as it apparently was, but I remembered some of it."
"He truly never forgave himself for that," she said quietly. "I never really forgave him, either. That was why he was willing to move here. He thought… I don't know… he thought it would make me happy again. It would make up for that. And that if I was close to my babies maybe it would make things right somehow. Even if you didn't know I was here." She sighed. "It wasn't you he was attacking, not to him. It was the magic itself. He was so mad. He loved you. You and your brother. To him, magic took his children away." She looked at me. "Does it matter much at this point? No changing the past."
"True," I said. "But he hasn't made much secret of his feelings about mages," I said. "He's been civil, but it's pretty obvious he found me to make you happy, not because he had any interest in seeing me himself."
"And you?"
"You never did anything bad to me. At least, not that I can remember."
"Can you remember much? About me, I mean?"
"Not really," I said. "I remember sitting on a counter. You gave me a cookie while I watched you cook. I remember you crying when I cast my first spell, and when they took me away. I remember thinking you were tall." Shrugging, I bit my nail. "You used to smell like apples."
"And now I smell like an open grave," she sighed. Alice did smile a bit then. "I don't think anyone but a child would ever call me tall."
"So that's where I get it from. I have elves under my command that are taller than me. Well… two of them are."
She laughed until coughing again. "Under your command," she finally managed to get out. "When you were fistfighting with the boy next door I never would have expected that to turn into a career as a great military leader. Although maybe I should have- you did always win." She went silent for a moment. "When you showed signs I had to beg him not to turn my sister in. He was so sure that was the reason you were a mage: the Maker was punishing us for helping to keep her secret and naming you after her. I was going to leave. I couldn't stand the thought of the Chantry stealing another of my babies. Take you and go hide, we could have moved somewhere into the woods, somewhere secret." I waited for her to go on. Her voice cracked. "I was scared," she finally said. "I didn't think I could do it alone, and I didn't want to call more attention to Peggy. I… I can't really read, I can't run a farm alone, I don't have any skills. How would I manage? We'd both starve to death, or freeze in the first winter." She bit her lip, tears on her cheeks. "I even thought about going to the city, figured I wasn't bad looking, maybe I could get a job there as a—" she made a face, unable to complete the sentence. I got her point, though. "It's ugly work, but I would have gone on my knees for every man in Denerim it to keep you. But how could I have kept you hidden in a big city like that? My da and sister were mages, but I'm not. I don't know how to train a mage, I don't know how to keep you hidden and safe."
"It isn't your fault," I said. Mostly because she was dying and it was what she wanted to hear, but really, listening to her I could see that it wasn't. What could one illiterate woman do to keep a mage safe on her own?
She snorted. "Not a day passes when I don't wonder what I could've done different."
"Nothing," I said finally. "Anders, that's my husband, his mother hid him. Hid him until he was twelve or so." The guilt in her expression deepened. "No—" I said, "I'm not saying that to say you should have. I mean, she tried to do what you wanted and, well, it didn't work. Your father could hide your sister since he could train her himself. We… we do need training. Badly. Horrible things can happen around an untrained mage. Redcliffe was almost destroyed because the Arlessa hid her son and he became possessed. Not just that, though. Magic, well… it's like sweat, or a facial expression. Sometimes it just… slips out. If you're angry, scared, or under threat you'll cast a spell without even wanting to. Training can teach you not to, but even with training if you're tired or distracted it can still happen. We have to pay attention every moment of the day to keep it in check." I figured Anders wouldn't mind me sharing this. "He never knew his father. It may have been a mage, but his mother raised him alone. It wasn't easy for her, I'm sure. Especially since she was an elf. I know even the other elves would have looked down on her for having a human's child, so she didn't even have her family to help. When a boy said something horrible to him in the street about her he hit him with lightning, without even realizing it. I would have done something like that eventually. Probably something much worse, really, since he's mostly a healer, and I'm mostly a battle mage. My natural affinity is all for the most deadly spells known. I could have killed someone… probably more than one person."
"With one spell?"
"Without even trying," I confirmed. "I launched a fireball at a group of bandits that surprised me once, back during the blight when I let myself get distracted on watch. I hadn't even realized what I was doing, I just acted. Killed half a dozen instantly. And nearly burnt our camp to the ground in the process."
She sighed. "Thank you," Alice managed after a moment. "I… I do appreciate that. I don't know, maybe I should have just taken you to Peggy. She had a life, but I know she would have helped me. I just worried more mages together would be more of a risk."
"Templars can sense when someone's a mage. It would have been." She sighed but didn't say anything more. I couldn't hold myself back any more, I had to ask. "Is your sister still—"
"No," she said. "Not the templars, though. Her village was attacked by the darkspawn during the blight. Everyone went into the Chantry, she stayed outside with the militia to help protect them. She'd been their healer for years, so most suspected she was a mage already. It…" her face clouded. "It wouldn't have mattered by then anyways. The darkspawn killed her. One of the men wrote me, Hob read me the letter. Said they never breeched the Chantry doors. Called her a hero."
I sighed, leaning back into the chair and pushing my hair from my face. "I don't blame you," I said finally. "The system is wrong, but you had no choice."
"It is wrong," she agreed. "But that'll change. Everything changes." She looked at me. "The whole world knows what you did during the blight, and that you had two more mages with you. Peggy helped her neighbors and she was just the village healer. I'd bet most apostates did the same. Went out of their way, risked exposure to save others. People know now." I thought about that, she was probably right. Even Jowan, who had even more reason to hide than most apostates and hadn't exactly been known for his bravery at the time, walked the length of Ferelden many times over guiding refugees North ahead of the darkspawn horde and using his magic to protect them. If people had a personal connection to a mage like that, someone who helped them specifically during the blight… well, that would certainly account for changing attitudes a lot more than any distant pedestaled hero like what they'd made out of me.
"It's already changing," I said.
"I wish it had happened soon enough for me to see it," she mused. "I don't know. I feel like I should say something about how I've had a good life, and I'm at peace and ready to go to the Maker." Her tone of voice left no question as to what she thought about that statement. "But… I haven't, I'm not, and I really couldn't give a toss about the Maker one way or the bother, if He even exists. He's never done right by me before, don't see why he'd start now."
I didn't really know what to say about that, so I didn't say anything.
"I'm sorry, I didn't want to see you just to complain."
"It's all right."
"No," she said. "I have no right complaining about my life to you. And it wasn't all bad. I had a good marriage, at least."
I wasn't able to stop myself from making a sound of disbelief.
"He's not a bad man. He's not." She sounded adamant, like she expected to convince me. "We never agreed about magic, and the law is on his side. But he's always been good to me otherwise." She closed her eyes. "No accounting for love, anyways. Not like you can control who you end up falling for. He moved here so I could be closer to you, he took me to Amaranthine so I could see you up close… he went to find you now." She sighed. "He's not a bad man. Hob can't help that he was raised to believe all the Chantry teaches. I know it killed him to see me looking at that tower and crying. I tried not to, but… it looks so damned awful. So harsh. Was it horrible?"
"I got out eventually," I said.
"I see you've inherited your father's tact," she said drily. "Just as well, though. I always preferred harsh truth to soft lies."
"Sorry," I muttered. "It, um, wasn't that bad. Just… don't ask Anders about it."
She raised an eyebrow. "Very convincing. At least I know you turned out honest." She coughed a few times. "Just… before I die, I wanted you to know I didn't want to give you up. I would have hid you, fought them… it's just…" She shook her head. "I'm sorry. I should have fought harder."
"There was nothing you could have done," I repeated. She nodded but had another fit of coughing before she could say anything else.
Catherine poked her head in. I hadn't even heard her in the house anymore. "Once she starts coughing like that it's usually not long before she falls asleep for the night."
"Can you get Anders?" I asked her. She gave me a blank look. "My husband."
"Ohh, right," she said. "Sure thing. I'll even keep my hands to myself," she said with a smirk.
"Good, then you can keep your hands," I replied, matching her expression. She chuckled and went outside. Returning a moment later, Anders immediately walked to my side, resting his hand on my shoulder.
"Uncanny," he muttered to himself looking at the now sleeping woman in the bed.
"Isn't it?" Catherine agreed.
"Is there anything that can be done?" I asked him.
He walked around to the other side of the bed. "Can I get some light?" I stood and unshouldered my staff, holding it up and illuminating the room with its glow. Catherine gasped in surprise; she had yet to see either of us cast a spell. Perhaps she'd never seen anyone cast a spell before at all. It had to be strange looking. "Perfect," Anders said. He ran his hands over her, blue light fading to white and then back to blue again. Taking a closer look at her now-sleeping face, he stood up straighter and gave me a significant glance, inclining his head to the door. I followed him out.
"Well?"
He shook his head. "Maybe something could have been done a year or two ago… but…"
"What is it?" Catherine asked. "The healer at the Chantry said it was a lot of things all happening at once."
"Well, it is, technically," he said. "She's got the sugar disease. At one time that could have been treated, but because it wasn't it caused other problems. Her kidneys are already dead inside her. Her heart isn't working properly anymore. The coughing is because it's pumping a tiny bit of blood into her lungs with each beat."
"There's nothing anyone can do?" Catherine asked.
"I can make her more comfortable, but that's about it. I frankly don't see how she's still alive now, to be honest, but people can sometimes hold on if they're waiting for something specific. She may have just been waiting for Hob to get home."
"Probably," Catherine said. "She sleeps most of the time now, when she woke up before it was just to ask where he was. This is the most she's said to anyone in ages."
She did sleep the rest of that night, and most of the following day. Anders had told me she didn't have long, so it seemed like we could stick it out. He rode up to Redcliffe to see if anything had been sent for us and to send an update to the Keep, but I stayed behind. Catherine had taken it upon herself to teach me how to cook.
"It's a lost cause," I insisted.
"If you can make a potion you can make a soup," she said.
I shrugged and did what she said, chopping vegetables. When we began adding them to the pot I tapped her on the shoulder. "That is something I'm sure I can do," I said, pointing at the wood in the stove. She stood aside, replacing the tinderbox on the shelf, while I lit the fire.
"That has to be handy," she observed.
"Usually I'm using it to far more destructive ends."
She paused after wrestling the large pot on the stove. "What's it like?"
I hated that question. How could I explain what it was like being a mage when I had no idea what it was like not being one? "Hard to say," I told her. "It's all I've ever known."
Catherine raised an eyebrow. "Not being a mage. I might as well ask what it's like to have black hair at that point if I want to waste time with stupid questions that have no answers. I mean being a Grey Warden."
"Oh, that," I said. "I like it, but it isn't for everyone."
"I can imagine," she said. "It seems exciting."
"It can be," I said. "Not easy, though."
"I just get so damned bored here," she said.
"There's a whole lot to do between 'cooking for your brothers' and 'Grey Wardens,'" I said. "We give up a lot to be what we are. We're not the same as normal people anymore, we're changed. It has some serious consequences."
"Like?"
"Like I can't tell you unless you want to become one of us and once I do there's no going back."
"Ouch."
"Yep," I said. "I don't mind. We fight the greatest evil in the world. It's a good cause." I paused. "You're fast and you're quiet. If you're even passable with a blade I'd find a place for you, no question, since weapon skills can always be learned. But it may be a bit too exciting for you. There's a lot to do out there, though."
"Not much for someone like me," she said. "Everyone wants a warrior for their guards, someone who can use a greatsword or a shield. I can't use either. I like daggers."
"You good with dogs? You could be an ash warrior," I said.
"Tried that," she said. "I don't know, I'm better with sneaking around."
I had an idea. "Ever think about being a spy? Like a bard?"
"A bard?" She raised an eyebrow. "A traitor to Ferelden? Absolutely not!"
"Ferelden uses spies, too, you know."
"We do!" her eyes went wide. "No!" Catherine paused. "Really?" I nodded. "Well, you would know better than me," she admitted. "Wow. Never would have guessed that."
"If you're interested I could get you in touch with the right people."
"Now that's a thought…" she looked intrigued.
"You want to be a Warden, I promise I'll find you a place," I said. "We can train you on weapons, but speed like yours can't be taught. But if that sounds better write to me and I'll set it up for you. The Crown's top spy and assassin are both friends. Good people, they do a lot to protect Ferelden. Fought with me in the blight." She nodded, grinning widely.
Alice would wake for an hour or two each day, looking progressively worse. Depending on who was already there, she would ask for her husband, one of my cousins, or me. Anders did his best to keep her comfortable.
Hob avoided both Anders and I like we had a plague ever since we returned. If she asked for me, he left the room. If she asked for him he would claim it was too crowded until I left. It wasn't until the sixth day that we were in the same room once again. I had been sitting with her, Anders and Catherine with me, when she asked for him and the rest of my cousins. He gave Catherine the excuse about it being crowded but Anders stopped him midway through.
"You really want to play this game when she has hours left?"
Hob's mouth snapped closed. "Are you sure?" he said after a moment.
"As much as anyone could be," Anders replied. "These things aren't exact."
He nodded and entered the room, wiping one of his eyes as he sat next to her, opposite from me. She didn't say much for the rest of the day, and when she did it didn't make much sense. She spoke to Anders briefly, calling him Darlan, she called Catherine Peggy. I must have looked surprised about why she thought my husband was the king who died fighting to stop the invading Orlesins until Catherine leaned towards me and whispered "her brother."
Finally she whispered with Hob. He had his head on her pillow, close enough that their foreheads touched, and brushed her hair back from her face as they spoke quietly. We all tried to stay back, not wanting to eavesdrop.
He called Anders' name. I looked over, Alice had become very still. "I think… she might be…" he stood up, hand over his mouth. Anders stepped forward, putting his fingers against her throat for a moment.
"I'm sorry," he said, stepping away from her.
Hob nodded, covering his face with both hands. "Can… can you all leave me alone for a bit?"
We silently filed out into the next room. Catherine closed the door quietly, but even with it shut we could still hear him crying. Catherine sighed and retrieved a box from a sideboard, unlocking it with a key on her wrist. A small pile of coins sat inside. "I don't think this is enough," she sighed.
Anders looked over at her. "For?"
"The funeral," she said. "Mother Hannah said it would be fifty if we wanted her to have a private pyre. I guess they have to pay the men who collect the wood and put it up, and I'm sure the Chantry takes their cut." She looked disgusted.
Without a word Anders stood up and walked over, reaching into his pocket as he moved. Dropping a few coins into the box, he turned around and returned to sit next to me. "I only had six ten sovereign pieces on me," he whispered. "A decent funeral will be at least a hundred."
I reached into my own pocket, leaning forward and dropping a handful of coins into the box. "That should be enough," I said.
"Thank you," she said quietly. "I hate to think of her on the pauper pyre." I nodded, agreeing with her. I wasn't entirely sure how I felt. Knowing she didn't want me to be taken away was surprising, and something of a comfort. Not as surprising as finding out I apparently came from a family of apostates, but since they were all dead there wasn't much I could do with regards to that revelation. And not much of a comfort since really, she waited until a week before she died to tell me. "I won't tell Hob where the money came from," she added a moment later, almost as an afterthought.
"Good idea," Charles spoke up. "You know he'd be itching for more."
She nodded. "He was thinking since you're a noble you'd start supporting the lot of us. I'm guessing you aren't half as rich as he thinks, though."
I nodded. "Most nobles own their property, I don't. I don't really own anything but my clothes, books and gear. I couldn't afford to support someone if I wanted to."
"Not surprised," she said.
We stayed for the funeral. It was, thanks to Anders and I, a very nice service. "How do you feel?" Anders asked me as we laid in bed in the small attic room of my cousin Charles' house.
"I don't know," I said. "So, um, I guess I feel conflicted?" He chuckled. "I suppose I'd feel more if I knew her more. One week isn't really enough to start thinking of her as my mother, you know?"
"True," he agreed. "It was good we came, though. Your cousins seem, um… interesting."
"Interesting?"
"They're all insane, Mags. Completely bloody mad."
"They seem perfectly fine to me."
"Well of course they do. It's clearly a very unusual form of hereditary madness that you also share in." He smirked at me, pulling me closer to him when I made a face. "Oh, calm down. I'm teasing. They seem perfectly fine, especially if you're fond of extremely loud people who brawl if you look at them wrong and proposition anything that moves." He paused. "Like you."
"I do not proposition anything that moves!" I said. Anders raised an eyebrow. "Well, not anymore. Why would I? No one else would be as good as you. And I certainly wouldn't love them. Although this is one of those times I wonder why it is I love you."
"Cruel, cruel woman," Anders said, running a hand through my hair. "Don't mind me, I'm trying to cheer you up. I know this hasn't been easy for you."
"I'll be fine," I said. "But thanks." He kissed me and settled back into the bed. Anders was soon asleep. Feeling restless, I got up and slipped back into a set of robes, ducking out of the house. I don't know what I planned to do, beyond sitting at the edge of the water. I think I just wanted to be alone with my thoughts, perhaps get a nice bit of self pity worked up. I hadn't expected Hob to find me not long after I sat down.
"Sorry," he said quietly. "Didn't mean to interrupt."
"Interrupt what? I'm just sitting here," I said.
"What happened to you?" he said after a moment of silence.
"A lot of things have happened to me," I said. "You'll have to narrow it down."
"You're not right," was all he said. I looked over, raising an eyebrow. "You look so much like your mother when you do that," he sighed. "But no, you aren't right. You may be a big fancy hero, but I would have raised you better than that Circle did. You've got a foul mouth. You take the Maker's name in vain."
"I'm hardly the only one who does that," I countered.
He snorted. "That's the least of it. You've got blasphemous ideas. You're not moral. You took an elf to your bed like you're no better than some common whore, you married a… a half breed. And from what I see you're not even a proper wife for someone like that. It's not right. I would have raised you properly. Way I see it, you're no better than that fool Catherine." I shook my head, looking at the water. "Nothing to say for yourself?"
I did laugh then. "Just thinking… I'm pretty lucky you didn't have a hand in raising me. And considering how much I've fought so people didn't have to give up their children, those aren't easy words to say." He didn't reply. "I don't appreciate being called a whore, though." He snorted, obviously not caring what I thought. I laughed. "Whores charge. I have no illusions about how normal people might see me, but I know what I am."
He snorted. "Figures you'd say something like that. You were always wild, even as a girl. The would have needed a firm hand to keep you in line, and it seems like them mages couldn't be bothered." He sighed. "You seem to get everything you want out of life, just handed to you. You twist people around until they believe what you want them to. You don't know what it's like to suffer, like us normal people do."
Rolling my eyes, I looked over at him. "You're completely right," I said. "I've never starved. I've never been a wanted fugitive. I've never been run through by a darkspawn sword. I've never been picked up and thrown by an ogre. I've never been clawed by an archdemon or bit by a werewolf. I've never been held prisoner and tortured for weeks on end by templars, and I've certainly never been raped by one while they made my husband watch. My life is perfect. Completely perfect. I'm sure I'll live to be a cheerful old lady and die in my own comfortable bed, and I absolutely won't die young in battle against darkspawn. Nope, not at all." Making a face I added "you know, you're really an asshole."
He was silent for a long time. Finally Hob spoke up again. "I guess your life hasn't been as easy as I thought," he said. "But Maker forgive me, since I know you're my blood, I still can't say I much like you even knowing all that."
"Well, it's quite mutual," I said. "You're an ignorant bigot and a racist. You're violent, but only when you know it's against someone weaker than you are. From all I could see my mother deserved better. You put the Orlesian chantry above your blood kin, that's not right." Maybe I was being a little manipulative.
"Even Loghain Mac Tir believed in the Chantry." His voice was stubborn. I glared at him, furious.
"Loghain Mac Tir and I lived and fought side by side for months. He saw no difference between the men and women in our group, or between the elves, humans, dwarves, and mages. He liked or disliked people based on who they were, not what they were. His final words were to call me: a foul mouthed, blaspheming mage that made no secret about sharing her bed nightly with an Antivan elf, his friend. Don't you dare assign beliefs to the man when you're speaking to someone who actually knew him. His memory deserves better than being used by others to justify their own prejudice." Disgusted, I stood up. "You and me? We're done. We're nothing. As far as I'm concerned I've got a handful of cousins and nothing more. My only parent was sent to the Maker this morning, and I'll be gone after sunrise." Turning, I stormed back inside.
The next morning my cousins came out to say goodbye. Catherine promised to write when she decided what she wanted to do with her future, and we all made a vague promise from all of us that we would gather at some undetermined point in the future.
As our wagon rolled off towards home I thought I saw Hob watching through the window.