gentleman, is she rly your wife if you don't kill her once?

Children.  Two children.  They had two children.  Mythal took a deep breath, then another.  And then another.  But it did not help.  It did nothing to assuage the sudden clench of her chest, the very real blade that had ended her life paling in comparison to the pain that blossomed there.  Sharp, consuming.  Her breaths were too fast, shallow, and for a moment, she wondered if she was suffocating.  Denaya.  Arithari.  She committed those names to memory.  Such beautiful names.

Mythal made a soft noise when he told her that she had been… around when they were very young.  Not there.  Not present, with them.  But around.  Elgar’nan.  Elgar’nan.  Always Elgar’nan and his machinations!  So much so that she’d had to keep her distance from her own children.  Her eyes stared forward but they did not see, her focus turned inwardly as she tried and tried again to find some sort of memory of her daughters, a glimpse, a fragment, anything!

But nothing came, nothing at all.

I thank you, for giving them stories, but they’re a poor substitute for a blood-and-flesh mother that loved them dearly.  She must have loved them.  Her heart ached and she knew that she had.  But she didn’t fight as Solas pulled her into his lap, Mythal shifting until she was settled in sideways, legs over his lap, turned around so that she could bury her face against his shoulder as she… as she had to listen.  One of her children had been taken.  Elgar’nan had taken her.  Her poor child.  The torment she must have endured… She would not weep.  She refused.  But she held onto him, her shield, her anchor, her heart.

Then… then we must bring her home, like you say, she said as evenly as she could, though the grief, the loss, floated beneath her words.  We must find her, Feredir.  And we must protect Denaya.  Her arms tightened around him.  I wish to see her.  When we can… does she know you?  Do they… blame me? No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t bring herself to say it.