"Let me tell you a truth... No matter what choice you make, it doesn't define you.
Not forever... No choice we make lasts our whole life. "
~Jonathan Maberry, Dust & Decay
The first time he saw her, he thought he was hallucinating(and you could pick a cause-blood loss, hunger, dehydration, all were viable options). A holy warrior with fire in her eyes and a song on her lips, bolstering her companions' spirits even as arrows flew from her bow, taking down one of the walking corpses clawing at the bars of his cell. The other two fell to blades and magic and before he could stop himself, he blurted, "Who're you?"
(Are you real? he wanted to ask, but Maker knew what they would have thought of his sanity.)
The apparent leader, a woman clad in well-crafted leathers, raised eyebrow. "Marta. But I feel like I should be asking you that." She wiped ichor off one of her daggers and peered curiously at him as she sheathed it. "Are you the mage Lady Isolde mentioned?"
His heart sank as he nodded. If Lady Isolde had told them about him, there was no chance of them doing anything but leaving him to rot-or killing him to save the undead the trouble. Both of which were no more than he deserved, but he couldn't help hoping... "My name's Jowan. Did she... did she tell you what I'd done?"
Marta traded a look with the blond warrior behind her before sheathing the other dagger. "She mentioned some level of responsibility for the walking corpses and demons-what?"
Jowan shook his head again, running a shaky hand through his hair. "I was already imprisoned when all that began. I..." The words stuck in his throat, but he had to say them. To confess. "I poisoned Arl Eamon."
The warrior stiffened at that, grip shifting on the hilt of his sword. Marta and the dark-haired mage behind her each raised an eyebrow fractionally. But the redhead archer barely flinched, blue eyes meeting his as if seeking something, and a faint smile of understanding tugging at her lips when she found it.
"Why?" Marta frowned.
"I was instructed to by Teyrn Loghain," he explained, knowing it probably sounded more like an excuse. "He told me Arl Eamon was a threat to Ferelden."
"And you just believed him?!" the warrior burst out.
"Alistair..." Marta said under her breath before giving Jowan an inscrutable look.
"He's the hero of River Dane!" Jowan protested, heart sinking a little bit further. "And... he promised to fix things with the Circle. But he's abandoned me, hasn't he? It's all gone wrong, and it's my fault." I just want to fix things...
The dark-haired mage snorted and crossed her arms. "And why, pray, would you desire such a thing?"
"Because..." This confession was sticking even more than the last one. But he was a dead man walking anyway, what was one more torch on the pyre? "I'm a blood mage."
"Ah." Marta nodded understanding, eyes still unreadable.
Alistair wasn't nearly so taciturn. "Well, that's not good."
Tell me something I don't know. His left hand throbbed, stiff fingers curling in protectively.
"He could still be of use to us," the mage argued. "Forbidden or no, blood magic is powerful. But if not, I say let him go."
"Morrigan, are you insane? We can't just... set a blood mage free!" Alistair sputtered vehemently.
"Better to slay him? Better to make him pay even more for his choices?" she shot back, nodding at the cell. "Is this Alistair who speaks, or the templar?"
Well. That explained a lot. But Jowan bit his tongue and let them talk. Morrigan's recommendation had caught him off-guard as much as it had her fellows. But even that didn't prepare him for the first words out of the redhead's mouth.
"He wishes to redeem himself," she said softly. "Doesn't everyone deserve that chance?"
"Like yourself, you mean?" Morrigan commented archly.
The redhead ignored her. "Everyone deserve a chance to redeem themselves in the Maker's eyes. This man no less than any."
I think I like your version of religion better than the Chantry's, Jowan thought to himself. He couldn't imagine any view that allowed forgiveness for blood mages had made her many friends, though.
Marta sighed, fingers drumming against the hilts of her daggers. "Hypothetically speaking, if I were too let you out, what would you do?"
"I'd try to save anyone I could," he answered quickly, hardly able to believe they were even hypothetically discussing this.
"Sure you would," Alistair muttered, just loud enough to be heard, which earned him a hard look from Marta.
"That's commendable," she said, letting If it's true hang unspoken. She bit her lower lip in thought for a moment, staring at him searchingly, then glanced at the redhead. The archer gave her an almost imperceptible nod, and she stepped forward, pulling out a set of lockpicks and kneeling before the cell door.
I'm dreaming. There's no way this is really happening, no way anyone in their right mind would trust me. I don't deserve it... But the click of a vanquished lock and the grating squeal as the door swung open said otherwise. Still, he didn't move, couldn't. "So... what now?"
"Now you help. Follow us," Marta replied, standing and heading for the stairs out of the dungeon.
"I'm not sure that part's a good idea," Jowan said hastily, rolling one shoulder and feeling the sting of his robes pulling against poorly healed wounds. "I'm not in any shape to fight. I'd just get in your way. I'll wait a few minutes and follow, help any survivors I find." Please, let there be survivors.
"No way," Alistair protested, straight-up scowling at him. "We let you out of our sight and who's to say you won't run for it?" He glanced back over his shoulder toward whatever passage they'd used to enter.
Jowan sighed, grabbed at the cell door to keep his balance as his knees wobbled. "And how far d'you think I'm going to make it? You're the first people I've seen in long enough to make me think they've forgotten about me. I haven't had anything to eat or drink in days. I promise, I will follow and help where I can, but I'd never be able to keep up the pace you'd need to set."
With some grumbling, the warrior backed down. "We do need to hurry. Or Maker knows what we'll find."
The others all nodded, and they filed toward the steps behind Marta. As they did, the redhead dropped back a few paces to hand him a half-full waterskin and a small bundle he assumed was food of some kind.
"Why...?" The question trailed off as his stomach rumbled.
"We wouldn't want you fainting before you have a chance to help anyone, would we?" she smiled, giving him a playful wink. "I'm Leliana. I feel you should know, in case we get an opportunity to talk later, no?"
"I... think I'd like that," he mumbled, unable to fully meet her gaze. Her eyes might be blue, and her hair a different shade of red, but here and now she reminded him too strongly of another casualty left by his inability to make good decisions.
"As would I," Leliana said, giving him another warm smile before hurrying to catch up with her friends.
Jowan looked down at the food in his hands as her footsteps faded, glanced toward the passage they'd come through. It would be so easy... Just vanish, run off and hide someplace where no one would know he was or what he'd done. He wouldn't bother anyone, wouldn't have to face the consequences of the messes he kept leaving...
"No," he whispered harshly, working the stopper out of the waterskin. "For once in my life, I'm doing the right thing."
He took a few minutes to eat and drink, the dry bread and tepid water seeming like a feast. It was harder to manage than he'd expected, his left hand sluggish and stiff, the wounds throbbing worse the harder he tried to make it cooperate. But if a crippled and useless hand was really the worst consequence he faced, it would be an unprecedented mercy.
But the consequences would come later. For now, he was going to focus on helping.
o.O.o
There were, sadly, not many people to help. Even though he knew the demons and everything weren't his fault(at least not directly. But who knew what had caused all this), the guilt still gnawed at him. Jowan stepped over yet another pile of decaying corpses, riddled with arrows and magic, into yet another empty room, feeling his heart sink a little bit further when it was truly empty. The next door he tried, however, opened about half an inch and then stopped.
"Hello?" he tried hesitantly.
"Stay away!" a muffled yet terrified voice shrieked.
"It's okay, it's okay! I'm a friend," he assured her, leaning one shoulder gingerly against the door so he could peer in.
"Are... are you sure there aren't any monsters?"
"None," he promised. Unless I count... circling wryly in his head. "They're all dead."
"Well... then... I suppose it's safe." She still sounded scared, and very, very young. But there was the tread of footsteps and a scraping sound as she removed whatever had been blocking the door. It opened to reveal a wide-eyed young woman with tousled blonde hair. "Are they really dead?"
Jowan nodded. "If you're fast and quiet, you can get away. There's a tunnel down in the dungeon that leads out under the lake."
"Maker bless you!" she breathed, and was off running before he could say another word.
She was one of only three people he found alive as he followed the trail of dead(again) the castle's rescuers had left behind. While it was better than none, it was still disheartening to be able to help so few.
And the situation waiting in the main hall was even worse.
o.O.o
He'd missed the fight, apparently, which was probably a good thing, given that he was too drained to even think about spellcasting. But the conversation in progress was just as grim; Connor had been possessed while trying to find a way to help his father, and now they had to decide the best way to handle a demon-controlled child. Marta was understandably adamant they weren't going to kill him unless there was no other choice. But no one was giving her any other options.
So Jowan stepped into the hall and offered one. A ritual that was just about the extent of his knowledge regarding blood magic. Even suggesting it turned his stomach, but they wanted options, and he could get someone into the Fade to face the demon responsible-without harming Connor. He was relieved, however, when she flatly refused to even consider blood magic. It made the hard looks from Isolde and Teagan-and the former's blistering hot anger-easier to bear, knowing someone with principles was calling the shots. He might be a dead man walking, but maybe she could save Connor from the same fate.
"Wait, I have it." Marta tapped a finger against her chin and pointed at him. "You say you need a lot of power to get someone-a mage-into the Fade, right? Why couldn't we just use lyrium instead of blood?"
"You could," Jowan nodded slowly. "You'd need a lot of it, though. You'd have to go to the Circle."
"Can we risk that?" Alistair asked, rubbing the back of his neck. "Don't get me wrong, it is our best option, but even if we cut across the lake, it's going to take a few days. What if Connor-"
"I'm willing to take that risk," Marta cut him off. "It's better than killing a child or his mother, and we need to go there anyway."
Teagan's expression was a mix of relief and concern as he wished them all speed on their journey., but hardened as he turned and clapped a hand down on Jowan's shoulder. "If you're serious about wanting to help, you can keep an eye on Connor. Make sure he stays calm, so we don't have another wave of undead to worry about." He gave the mage a none-too-gentle shove toward the stairs, nodding at one of the surviving guards to follow him.
Jowan went quietly, biting down on a yelp as keeping his balance renewed aches and reopened at least a couple of the smaller wounds hidden under his robes. He and his 'escort' had made it to the top of the stairs and started down the hallway when a familiar, accented voice called out from behind them.
"Wait!" Leliana emerged from the staircase, brushing hair back from her face. "I volunteered to stay and help. Two pairs of eyes will be better than one, no?"
"And whaddya think I'll be doin', starin' at the wall?" the guard grunted.
"Three, then," Leliana said with a disarming smile. "I assumed your duties would be more watching him-" a nod toward Jowan- "than watching Connor."
"Yer mostly right," the guard allowed, "but I can keep an eye on the boy as well as the traitor."
If the dig was intended to get a reaction out of him, it failed. Between the exhaustion, guilt, and fading adrenaline, someone could have spat in his face and Jowan wouldn't have so much as flinched.
They found Connor in his room, humming nonsense to himself as he stared at the wall. Quietly they closed the door and settled in to watch him.
"Are you alright?" Leliana whispered, catching Jowan's wince as he forgot himself and slouched in the chair.
"No, it's nothing," he insisted, sitting upright as a dull ache spread through his back. "I'm fine."
"Liar," she murmured, craning her neck to see his back.
"Yes, I am, actually," he returned dryly. "About so much more than this."
He saw it in her eyes, the moment she saw the extent of it. She muttered briefly in a foreign tongue-Orlesian, maybe?-before gesturing to the guard. "What is your name?"
"Bren," came the almost wary reply.
"Bren, I need some bandages, and perhaps a small jar of healing salve, if possible, please."
Bren's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Why? He bleeds to death, it'll be better'n he deserves."
"Leliana, you don't have to-" He didn't even make it all the way through the protest before she silenced him with a look. So. Underneath the gentle, freckle-faced exterior, she was not to be trifled with. Good to know.
"I disagree," she said softly, staring hard at Bren. "I believe he deserves to be treated with a modicum of human decency. A view I'm fairly certain the Warden shares, no? So please bring me some bandages. The salve I can do without, if it's in short supply, but the bandages I need. Now."
Biting back a ready argument, Bren spun and left the room.
Leliana raised an eyebrow at the guard's retreating back. "Apparently, they were instructed to accommodate us whatever we ask. Interesting."
"You really didn't need to do that," Jowan muttered. "Not for-" A liar. A traitor. A blood mage. A screw-up. "Not for me."
"Jowan, you are bleeding through your robes," she said gently, lightly touching a spot near his shoulder blade. "I don't care what you've done, I can't just leave you like this."
"And which chantry taught you beliefs like that?" he said under his breath.
Leliana shook her head. "Not any chantry, per se. More one Revered Mother in particular."
"With views like that, I'm surprised she made it to Revered Mother."
"She is... charismatic enough it's not yet been an issue," the archer murmured, lightly running one hand over his back. "And I don't think she made a habit of over-sharing. I was a lost girl, scared and desperately in need of hope. So she gave me some. Do you have any attachment to this set of robes?"
It took him a second to process the shift in conversation. "Not... really. They aren't in any shape to be saved, anyway."
"Bien," she nodded. "Because I think this is going to be the least painful way for me to see what I am dealing with, no?" With that, she slid a small knife from inside her boot and carefully slit open the back of his robes from waist to neck.
Jowan grimaced and sucked in a harsh breath through his nose as the fabric stuck to half-healed wounds. He heard Leliana's breath catch when she saw.
"These..." she stopped, began again, voice barely more than a whisper filled with the conviction of experience. "These aren't from combat. Or self-inflicted."
He shrugged, which hurt, and told the truth, which didn't(for once). "Lady Isolde thought I was responsible for the demons and undead in the castle. She wanted me to make them stop." He glanced up at Connor, still curled up on his bed. "I couldn't, because they weren't my doing-not directly, anyway-and... she didn't want to take no for an answer."
"So she had you tortured?"
"It's not like I deserve any better," Jowan mumbled.
Leliana snorted, circled the chair to kneel in front of him and bring them to eye level. "Whatever justice your crimes may warrant, I doubt it extends to... to this!"
"Doesn't it? I failed to properly instruct her son, who is now possessed by a demon, and poisoned her husband. I think she's a little bit justified to hate me. And if a traitorous, lying blood mage doesn't deserve this, then who does?"
She cocked her head and looked at him sadly for a moment. "Well, I would argue no one does," she countered as she crossed the room to borrow the washbasin and towel from Connor's dresser. "But I would also argue that if you were misled by someone you should be able to trust, made to think you were helping your country, rather than hurting it, it's not the same as deliberately committing treason."
There was something in her voice that made him wonder if the words were as much for herself as for him. But any protest he might have offered died when she started washing the blood off his back and he had to swallow a yelp instead. "...Ow."
"Only way it's going to get better, no?" Leliana reminded him, her touch gentle yet determined as she peeled back bloody cloth and continued cleaning wounds.
This time, Jowan's intended reply was silenced by Bren's return, the guard's presence shattering any illusion of privacy even as Leliana gratefully plucked the proffered bandages and a small tin of salve from outstretched hands. The cloud of suspicion that followed Bren into the room put a damper on any further discussion-theological or otherwise-so Jowan just sat in silence and kept an eye on Connor as Leliana tended to his back, an occasional wince tugging at his lips. He really didn't mind the pain, though. It reminded him that he was-somehow-still alive, and as long as he was alive he could keep trying to fix his mess.
o.O.o
All told, it was four days before the party that ventured to the Circle returned. Four days of watching Connor, of expecting every little sneeze or twitch to herald the demon's re-emergence. But either it had retreated to lick its wounds-unlikely-or was waiting to see what they had planned. After the second day passed without incident, Teagan accepted Leliana's promise she could and would handle things on her own and stopped assigning a guard inside the room. They were still patrolling the hallways, but the lack of a constantly glaring presence in the room was a relief. As was-he had to admit-the change of clothes Leliana wheedled out of a guard. The material was rough, and they had obviously belonged to a larger man, but they were clean. And not a bloody, constant reminder of everything he'd ruined.
"You're awfully persuasive," Jowan commented, gingerly pulling on the loose red shirt before shucking the ruined remains of his robes. The pants were similarly loose, but he rescued the waistcord from his robes to solve that problem.
"It's a gift," Leliana replied easily, giving him a sense she was dodging deeper implications. "It helps to be able to read people well, know what to say to make them... receptive to your request."
"I take it you're good at that, too?" he probed, tossing his robes into the fire. I wish I could get rid of the bad choices so easily.
"As a matter of fact, yes. I am." The light tone was gone, and when he turned around, she was looking at him intently.
"Don't start that again, Leliana," he said with a sigh, running one hand carefully through his hair. Thanks to her, the wounds on his back were starting to heal, but pulling at them still hurt. "You don't know what I've done." Lily's in prison, Felix is probably dead by now, Arl Eamon might still die, Connor's possessed...
Leliana gave a short, dry laugh, tugging at his sleeve so he would sit next to her. "And you don't know what I've done, no? Marta is also good at reading people, almost as good as I am. So long as your heart and your intentions are good, she doesn't allow past actions to condemn you."
"That sounds like it would be nice," Jowan murmured, barely above a whisper, fiddling with the bandages around his left hand. "But I-"
"If you say you don't deserve mercy or a second chance one more time, I may hit you," Leliana warned, tone light yet still serious as she cut him off. "That's the whole point of mercy, Jowan, and of most second chances; that you don't deserve it and someone gives it to you anyway because they believe you can do better." She pulled his hand away. "And stop playing with that, you'll make it worse."
"I don't think I can," he said wryly, showing her the severely limited range of motion left in those fingers. "One more thing I ruined."
She tsked at him. "Maybe one of the mages who return with them will be a healer, and can help more than I could, no?"
"Maybe," he sighed, though he knew the odds were slim. Not that it mattered; he was as good as dead anyway. What would it change if he'd lost function in one hand?
When Marta and the others did return, they had several mages in tow and a look in their eyes that said things hadn't exactly gone according to plan. And when Leliana asked what happened, Alistair returned some quip about an uprising and having to fight blood mages and demons, "You know, the usual complications". Leliana rolled her eyes and went to talk to Marta instead, leaving Jowan standing by himself in the corner to watch as First Enchanter Irving and the others prepared for the ritual.
Please let this work. He wasn't even sure who he was asking, since he doubted the Maker or Andraste listened to blood mages. But he desperately wanted to set this right, for at least one of the people suffering for his actions to be saved.
Despite that, no one was more surprised than he was when Marta named him the one to enter the Fade and fight the demon. Even in the face of protests from Alistair and Irving, she remained adamant. "He's made it clear he wants to help fix things, so I trust him to do the right thing. And if I'm wrong, there's enough of us to subdue him. Need I bring up our recently acquired experience fighting abominations?"
That quieted both of them, though neither looked happy.
"Whatever I can do to help," Jowan promised as he stepped forward, sending Leliana a questioning look. Did you have anything to do with this?
She subtly shook her head, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth as she watched him mentally connect the dots. If she hadn't said anything to Marta, and the leader had made that decision on her own...
Maybe Leliana was right. It was his last conscious thought before the ritual reached its peak and he felt himself falling...
o.O.o
This is different. He'd seen the Fade before when dreaming, every mage did. But it felt clearer, more present, this time. It was still murky around the edges, and Jowan was still very aware he was't really 'here', but the sharper detail was just a little unsettling.
"Okay. Right. Time to find a demon," he muttered, trying to forget Irving's theorizing it was a desire demon. That was a level of pressure he didn't need. He took a deep breath and tried to remember some of the details Felix had shared about his Harrowing, hoping to recall something that would help. But Felix had talked more about fighting the demon than finding it.
So Jowan set off in search of his own demon. And after several false leads and wrong turns-complete with fear and anger from spirits that looked like Connor and Eamon-he found her. Irving had been right; the demon controlling Connor was of the desire variety, and she lived up to it. She flashed through human forms she thought would persuade him, hair two different shades of red, hitting guilt and hope and every note in between, before offering power, wealth, knowledge.
A dry, mirthless chuckle escaped him at the increasingly honeyed attempts. "I'm not changing my mind, demon. I probably won't live long enough to enjoy any of the things you promise, anyway, even if I believed you. I'd rather stick with atoning for what I've done."
"Are you sure?" she pouted, face morphing back into Lily's.
"I'm sure. I've been given a chance to do the right thing, and for once in my life, I'm going to take it." Even if it kills me.
"Very well, mortal," the demon hissed, shedding the more human appearance. "No more illusions. Face me, and I will be the last thing you see before you perish!"
Jowan narrowly avoided the torrent of cold magic that poured from her clawed hands and retaliated with a fire spell. No going back now.
It was a hard fight, especially given the shifting, disconcerting nature of the Fade and the fact his opponent could create multiple copies of herself at will. But he won. A fact that took a second to sink in as he stood, breathing hard, the demon's piercing death cry still ringing in his ears. Even as it did settle in that he was alive and the demon wasn't, the surrounding portion of the Fade began to deteriorate and dissolve, hearkening his return to the waking world.
o.O.o
He woke with a splitting headache, but that was the least of his worries. "How's Connor?"
"Asleep still, but he seems... peaceful. Settled." Marta replied, her extended hand coming into focus as he blinked away the residual foggy spots and his vision cleared. "You did a good job."
"Good, that's... I'm glad he's alright." He accepted the offered hand up. Glad I didn't screw this up, too. "What now?"
"Now you go back in a cell," Teagan said. "Connor may be out of danger, but Eamon is still comatose."
Jowan winced but nodded. That was only fair. But at least Connor was safe, and that was enough for now. So he followed the assigned guard back down to the dungeon without complaint or resistance. He did get a different cell this time-one not reeking of decaying flesh-for which he was grateful.
And about half an hour after he got settled, he had a visitor. He heard her on the stairs, quiet but not silent.
"Does Teagan know you're down here?" he asked, fiddling with his bandaged left hand.
"I don't know," Leliana shrugged as she slowed to a stop outside his cell. "But it doesn't really matter. I have nothing to hide. I just wanted to let you know that Marta was able to persuade him and Isolde not to... do anything until we get back."
"Not to execute me, you mean," Jowan said wryly, leaning his head back against the wall. "As I so richly deserve."
She sighed. "Not just that. There will be no more mistreatment, and they'll feed you at least somewhat regularly." A pause, and something on her armor rustled. "However, just in case..." She pressed a waterskin through the bars, travel-worn, a small Chantry sunburst charm glinting from one of its straps.
"I... thank you." He took the waterskin, sat it on the floor, and asked the question that had been bothering him since the first time he heard her speak. "Leliana... why do you care? About me, I mean. Why's it matter to you what happens to me?"
Leliana smiled, hands resting on the bars of his cell, fingers mere centimeters away from his. "Maybe I've taken to heart the Maker's admonition that we care for everyone, not just those who are easy and acceptable by society's standards. Or maybe I truly believe you are sorry for the mistakes you've made thus far and wish to do better with your life. Perhaps both." Something-a memory?-darkened her eyes. "Or maybe I choose to believe in the idea of second chances. Maybe I need to believe in them." She pushed away from the bars. "I'll take the waterskin back when we return, no? And what did I tell you about playing with the bandages?" Leliana half-smiled in gentle reproof before turning away. And with that, she walked out of the dungeon, and-he was sure-what remained of his life for good. Still, she'd given enough hints he couldn't help hoping, just a little...
And hope was a dangerous thing.