18 Cloudreach 9:17 Dragon

The Arling of West Hills, Ferelden

Resisting the urge to shout, Malcolm Hawke calmly stared down the cause of his current problems. A near-riot in the streets of the small town he had lived in quite happily for nearly two years, his wife in tears, and his son tearing the house apart bit by bit. Three things that, had they occurred alone, would have quite easily ruined his otherwise uneventful day. When combined the overall effect made him question why he ever thought escaping the Kirkwall Circle and running off to Ferelden would be a good idea in the first place. The source of the troubles remained silent, refusing to meet his gaze. Instead, they focused on their feet, red with shame.

Not that he could blame them. Even he remembered enough of his life before being taken away to know that few children would relish being yelled at by their father.

"All right, girls, let's try and decide where we went wrong today. Any suggestions?" Malcolm sat back, pushing too-long hair from his eyes as he watched his two daughters in the dim light of their root cellar.

"No fire in near straw," his firstborn answered promptly.

Malcolm did sigh then, raising an eyebrow and staring down the eight year old. "Malina…"

She made a face, pouting. "All right. No fire anywhere."

"A good start," he admitted, finding it difficult to stay angry in the face of what was, in reality, his wife's pout on a much smaller scale. His wife's pout topped with his own red hair, which, as he had always expected, looked far better on a female head than it ever had on his own. "I think we may be missing the larger part of the problem. Missing it intentionally, if I'm not mistaken." She didn't answer, looking at her hands instead. "Bethany?" he asked, pinning the smaller girl in his gaze.

Twirling black hair around a finger, she shifted in her seat, glancing from her father to her older sister and back again. Finally, in a small voice, she whispered "never let anyone know."

"There we go," he said, momentarily pleased that both of his daughters hadn't been struck by willful idiocy. "And why not?"

A crashing noise came from upstairs. "I don't wanna move again!" came the shout, accompanied by the sound of a young boy stomping from one side of the house to the other. Both girls shrank further into their seats.

"Because we have to move," Bethany said.

Malcolm made a noise of agreement, gesturing for her to go on. "Why do we have to move?"

"So the Templars won't find us?" Malina asked, looking at her father again. "Because they'll take us away." Her desire to keep tightlipped had apparently faded once she realized Bethany wouldn't join her in silence.

He nodded, sitting forward again and sighing in exhaustion. "Exactly. So… can you two please explain why the scarecrow was on fire today? In full view of all the neighbors?"

"I didn't mean to," Bethany began, nervously gripping her older sister's hand.

At the same time, Malina said "it was an accident. Really."

Malcolm sighed, too tired to hide his frustration. "I know it was an accident. I'd be yelling a lot more if I suspected you intentionally torched the scarecrow. And believe me, I know it isn't easy. I've been through it, too… But you have to try. If they catch you, there won't be a thing your mother or I can do to help. You'll never see us or your brother again."

"I'm sorry, Daddy," Malina said quietly.

"Me too," Bethany added. "I promise I'll be more good."

Smiling slightly, he leaned forward, kissing his younger daughter on the forehead. "Better, sweetheart. We don't say more good, we say better."

"I promise I'll be better?" she asked.

"I know you will." He stood, waiting near the door. Male voices filtered through the floorboards, muffled by the old carpet covering the hatch. He quickly pulled both girls into his arms, gesturing for silence. Silently praying they couldn't feel his heart threatening to burst in his chest, Malcolm tried to keep a calm exterior. He would have no chance of keeping them calm if either realized how terrified he was. As the men shouted, demanding to know where the apostates were, Bethany began to cry. Without a word Malina reached over, covering her sister's mouth.

"I don't know where they are," he could hear his wife saying. "He took both girls and left!" The response was unclear. Doors were being thrown open upstairs, cabinets searched. He could follow their footsteps across the small farmhouse, dust on the floorboards being disturbed with every metal-clad step.

"Do you have a cellar?"

Malcolm's breath froze in his lungs. No, no, please no. Not my children, Maker don't let them find my children. He shifted, staring at the trapdoor as if he could will it to remain closed. With a whispered apology he pulled his daughters closer, covering their mouths himself, one hand for each, now that both of them were crying in fear. He hated to do it, but two sobbing children could be just enough noise to give them away.

"What, you think I'm the Arl or something? A cellar. Ha!" Leandra was trying to distract them by playing the annoyed housewife, while keeping up a constant stream of chatter to drown out any potential noise from the cellar. "You ask me, we'd all be better off if you lads did something to really help us common folk, not just stand around the Chantry in your fancy armor all day. You think I need a cellar? Come dig one for me!" She began to rattle off a list of household chores they could assist with once that was done.

"Can I see your sword," came another voice. When that request was refused more questions came on its heels. "Why do you wear dresses? Did Andraste say you have to?" Carver, Maker bless him, was doing his best to distract the men from their holy business.

The templars were clearly becoming annoyed with the nonstop demands for housework and the incessant questioning of a curious six year old. They began to excuse themselves. "Of course I'll let you know if they return," his wife went on. "What, you think I want those… those things in my house? I've got a boy to raise, and he's normal." Leandra had gotten very good at telling them what they wanted to hear over the years.

More conversation, none of it important, and the slam of the door. Eventually there was a rustling overhead, dust sifting through the floorboards as the carpet was pulled away. The hidden door opened and Malcolm looked up into the pale eyes of his wife, red rimmed with exhaustion. "All clear, for now."

"You're sure?"

"I watched them walk back to the Chantry,"

"Thank you, Leandra," he said before returning his attention to the girls. Holding his youngest to him, Malcolm brushed her hair back from her face. "It's all right, sweetheart," he said. "They're gone. You're safe." Eventually her sobs calmed into sniffles and she nodded. "Run upstairs and start packing. We have to leave before dawn." After a moment of hesitation he cast a small rejuvenation spell. Hopefully nothing the templars could sense at this distance, just enough to keep the little girls awake through the long night ahead.

Bethany scrambled up the stairs on hands and feet. Once they were alone Malcolm turned to his oldest child, dropping to one knee so they were on eye level. "I know you want to help her," he said, "but lying about something like this isn't the way. She needs to learn how to control herself, just like you did at her age. Just like I did when I was a boy." Malina nodded, looking embarrassed. "I'm glad you're trying to protect Bethany, but I'm not who she needs protection from!"

"It's all stupid Carver's fault. He put a frog in her hair! She got scared! You should yell at him."

"I know what he did, and I've already talked to him," Malcolm said sternly. "We're talking about what you did now. Did you really expect anyone to believe lightning hit the scarecrow?"

"Well… that's almost what happened?" she said, offering a gap-toothed grin.

"You know what I mean. You're the oldest, you should be looking out for your brother and sister by setting a good example. Not teaching them to tell wild stories and lie."

"I'm sorry, Daddy," she said again, smile crashing.

"All right," he said, standing up. "Remember, people like us have to be careful. The only way an apostate can stay safe is to stay hidden."

"Yes, Daddy."

"And Maker's breath, I can't keep you safe if you act like I'm a templar. I'm getting very tired of telling you that." She nodded and he waved her off. "Go on up, get your things together and then see if Bethany and Carver need any help."

"All right."

"And be nice to your brother. You know Carver was just starting to make friends here."

"Fine," she said, making a face.

"That's my girl," he said, tousling her hair and ignoring the pout. He followed her from the cellar, sitting quietly at the table for a moment before glancing up at the sound of a chair being pulled out.

"Mal," his wife said quietly as she sat, "do you ever wonder if we're doing the right thing?"

"No," he responded without hesitation. A moment later he stared at her, worry spread across his face . "Leandra, you don't want to send them to—"

"Maker, no!" she said emphatically. "I… I just worry. Will they be safe, what will happen if they're caught… what kind of life will they have, always hiding?" She sighed. "Will they ever get married, have families? How could they? If they let anyone get that close—"

Malcolm cleared his throat, breaking off her list of worries. "I managed just fine," he said wryly.

"How many rebellious children of noble families do you think there are?" she replied, matching his expression of amusement.

He laughed, reaching across the table to briefly squeeze her hand. "Leandra, they'll have a free life, their own life. Besides, if I managed I'm sure they'll be fine. Have you seen our daughters lately? Unless they get hit in the face repeatedly between now and their teenage years, which is unlikely since both are capable of burning anyone who tries alive, I think I'll end up permanently playing the creepy apostate father just to scare the boys away." He paused, considering the idea. "It would finally give me a chance to use that staff with a skull on the end of it." She rolled her eyes and Malcolm laughed. "For now… they're as safe with us as in the Circle. Safer, really. You don't know what it's like there. What the templars do to those girls…" He made a face, eyes darkening. "I'll die before I see them there." Meeting his wife's eyes, he offered a sardonic grin. "Well, come to think of it, odds are that is exactly how it would happen. I somehow doubt they'd believe I got lost and accidentally ended up in Ferelden, married, and with three children."

"I wish you wouldn't joke about things like that."

"Better to tear at my hair and weep?" he shrugged. "Sorry, it hasn't been an easy day. Not that there have been many of those in the last few years, but…"

"This… they will get better, right?"

"They will," he said. "Malina already is, you just can't tell since she's got it in her head to cover up for Bethany at every turn." He leaned back, arms folded. "At that age… it's much more of a struggle. They're strong girls, though. They'll master their powers." Leandra didn't respond, but she did look slightly reassured by his words. "How is Carver dealing with all this?"

"Oh, he says we should give them to the templars. Or dragons."

Malcolm sighed. "He'll understand why we did this when he's older. I wish we could somehow explain it—"

"Sweetheart, you don't understand how brothers and sisters are," his wife broke in. "My brother and I were at each other's throats from the time we could walk. He'd say we should feed them to a dragon even if they weren't mages."

Malcolm shook his head. "Why is it we had children, again? Why not just get married?"

Leandra gave him a wicked grin. "Since we didn't go in that order, love."

"Riiiight…" he laughed. "Let's hope Malina never develops a fondness for math and figures that one out."

"She'd probably laugh about it."

Face growing serious again as their son started screaming at his sisters from the second floor, Malcolm sighed. "I hate that he can't settle in because of this. The girls… well, this is better than the alternative for them. Carver could have had a normal life, though."

"A life with a family who loves him is better than what many children get. Just… try and spend more time with him," she said. "You know how he looks up to you. He's so jealous over how much time you spend with the girls."

Malcolm sighed. "I know… you're right. It just takes so much time training them; I feel like I need more hours in the day." He looked up at the stairs. "No… no excuses. He's my boy. He needs to spend time with his father. I'll figure something out. Maybe I'll start teaching him how to take care of a sword while we travel. I think he's getting old enough for that."

"Good," she said, nodding in approval. "We need to get moving. I've barely had time to start packing, and we don't even know where we're going this time." Following her upstairs, he shook his head. This was the fifth move since Malina had first shown signs of magical ability, and the sixth since they were married. Although he hoped it would get easier, something made Malcolm think that, with Bethany also displaying magic, their lives were only bound to get more chaotic.

"Days like this I'm rather glad you're not the sort of woman who loves shelves full of tiny glass figures."

Leandra laughed. "Even if I was, three children under the age of ten would have destroyed them as surely as always sneaking out under the cover of night."

"Under the cover of night?" Malcolm made a face as he began folding clothing from their closet. "Sometimes I think you like this sort of thing."

"Who, me," was all she said in response before winking at him. "Don't be silly."

A/N: This wouldn't let me write anything else until I started it. Blame Anders. But, now that I've got my toe in the DA2 water I'm already over my writers block with Apostates of Amaranthine. Go figure. Apparently I do need four ongoing fics. ;)
Bioware owns the world, I just like to visit.

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