A/N: I make no claim to any of the characters in this story (except for the unnamed protagonist) – they belong to others, and I simply borrowed them for a while. I hope I didn't tarnish them in the process.
The story contains spoilers for the mage origin of Dragon Age: Origins. It's a one-shot; there are no current plans for a continuation or sequel.
This is my first posted fanfic, so any comments/reviews will be greatly appreciated. Thank you for reading it.
(Edited 23/06/10 to fix a typo)
Blood and Thunder
She wakes with the sound of thunder in her ears; thunder that no-one else will hear. A storm is coming, and no ordinary storm, at that. Her weather sense is never wrong.
She shivers.
"Are you all right? Say something, please!"
She opens her eyes to see Jowan hovering anxiously beside her bed, and the events of the night before come flooding back to her.
The Harrowing.
She sits up with a groan, and reassures him that she is fine. His relief is palpable, but it is quickly overshadowed by his curiosity about the ritual.
She isn't supposed to tell him anything, they both know this, but it's just like Jowan to ask anyway. He begs her to share just a hint, and she gives in, as she always does.
She steels herself for more questions, but he's already thinking about something else, and she listens in shock as he shares his fear that the reason he hasn't been called for his own Harrowing yet is that they mean to put him through the Rite of Tranquility instead.
She tells him he's being paranoid, but her heart is disquiet as he walks away.
Jowan must be wrong. He has to be, because she simply can't imagine life in the Circle without him.
Everything scares her: the impassive templars that took her away from her mother; the long journey that she thought would never end; the wide, dark lake they crossed to reach the tower; the tower itself, looming like a monstrous spectre in the evening gloom; the mages who tell her that this is her home now; the other children who crowd round to welcome her.
But most of all, she is terrified of her own magic, of the things it can do, and the fact that she can't control it. People were hurt, and the only thing she understands is that it was her fault.
She shies away from the other apprentices, staring at them all mutely and trembling with fear.
The mages huddle together and talk quietly for a moment, and then a woman comes over and gently leads her to a quiet corner of the room. Motioning a young boy to join them, the mage asks him to look after her, and then returns to the others.
The dark haired boy looks at her sullenly; he doesn't speak or smile. She doesn't mind; all she wants is to be left alone.
Much later, when the novelty has worn off and everyone else's attention has moved on to other things, he finally breaks the silence. "I'm Jowan," he says quietly, without looking at her.
She darts him a glance. "Hi."
"We're not friends," he states bluntly.
"No," she agrees, her tone solemn.
This takes him aback, and he turns to study her, his wary gaze seeking any sign that she is making fun of him. "I don't need any friends. And I couldn't be friends with an elf, anyway." His tone is more challenging than scornful.
"Well, that's good, because I couldn't be friends with a human," she retorts, but there's no heat in her words, and she can't quite suppress a smile.
He grins suddenly, and right then, she thinks that perhaps the Circle isn't such a bad place to be after all.
Jowan is waiting for her in the corridor after she escorts Duncan (A Grey Warden! Here, in the Circle tower!) to his room, and he seems even more anxious than he did earlier. He quietly asks her to come with him, and to her surprise, he leads her to a secluded corner of the chapel. A pretty young initiate is waiting for them; she seems anxious.
"What's going on?" she asks, looking warily at the initiate.
Jowan clears his throat awkwardly. "A few months ago, I told you that I'd… met a girl. This is Lily."
"What is with you, Jowan? You've been distracted for days, now. You nearly burnt my hair with that last spell!"
He chuckles. "Well, if you will insist on tying it up so it sticks out like that…"
She pokes her tongue out at him. "That's not an answer."
He groans in mock annoyance. "All right, all right. I was going to tell you anyway – I just didn't know how to bring it up." He looks directly into her eyes and takes a deep breath. "There's this girl… And I can't stop thinking about her. I think… I think I love her."
For just a moment her world spins crazily, but then he's gushing about pretty green eyes, and her heart sinks, because her own eyes are the blue of the morning sky. Jowan was the one who told her that.
And now he's babbling something about the Chant of Light, and that shocks her out of the misery that he hasn't even noticed.
"An initiate? Have you taken leave of what little senses you possessed?"
But on reflection, it makes perfect sense. Who else would Jowan, to whom rules have always represented boundaries to be pushed, fall in love with?
Somewhere in a dark, bitter corner of her mind, she wonders if that's the sole reason for his infatuation.
"My condolences, Lily." She makes sure her tone is light and hopes that her face isn't betraying her true feelings.
"Very funny," Jowan drawls, and she needn't have worried, because he has eyes only for Lily.
For a moment she's horrified by the idea that he's brought her here simply to discuss his love life, but her relief when he assures her it's not so is short-lived. All other thoughts are chased out of her head when they tell her that Jowan's fears aren't unfounded after all; Knight-Commander Greagoir has taken heed of the rumours of blood magic, and now Lily has seen the document on Greagoir's desk – signed by First Enchanter Irving – authorising the Rite.
Jowan is to be made Tranquil.
He is terrified, and can think of only one way out; escape. But that means first finding and destroying his phylactery, so that the templars won't be able to track him. And for that, they need her help.
Her instincts scream against it, and she tries to convince them to go to Irving and explain everything. If the only thing that Jowan has done wrong is sneaking around to meet Lily in secret, surely the First Enchanter will understand. But Jowan is adamant; Irving and Greagoir have already made up their minds, and so has he.
Against her better judgement, she agrees to get the rod of fire from Owain, because it's Jowan, and no matter how many rules she has to break in the process, she can't let him be condemned to a fate worse than death for something he hasn't even done.
Thunder rumbles low and menacing inside her head, but she ignores it. She has more pressing matters to worry about than a coming storm.
"There you are! Why are you hiding under there?"
"It's raining."
Jowan stares at her as if she's crazy. "What do you mean, it's raining? We're inside a big stone tower, silly."
She rubs her arms, which tingle with the sensation of rain droplets. "I know that, idiot. But still, it's raining." She gestures towards the small panes of glass, set in decorative patterns in the walls far, far above them. At such an angle, all you can see through them is whether it's light or dark outside. Right now, it's light, but not as light as it could be. "Out there, it's raining. And I feel it."
His eyes widen. "You mean, with magic?" He looks impressed, and impressing Jowan is no easy task. "How? Could you teach me to do that?"
She shakes her head. "I don't know how I do it, I just do. It just... started happening, I don't know why." She sighs. "And believe me, you wouldn't want it." She rubs her arms again. "I feel the cold of the snow, the wet of the rain, the chill of the wind, and I can't make it stop." She looks at him, wide-eyed. "I can't even remember what rain looks like, any more. But I know what it feels like. Have you any idea what it's like, getting just a sense of what's going on outside, but never being able to see it?" Her voice catches suddenly, and she looks away from him.
The next moment, she's enfolded in a hug, and tears of frustration fall unchecked as he holds her tight.
Getting to the phylactery chamber proves much more challenging than any of them were expecting, but despite spell wards and magical sentries they make it there, and Jowan hesitates only a fraction of a second before letting the small vial shatter on the floor.
His expression as he watches his blood pool on the floor amidst the glass fragments makes her shiver without quite knowing why. But then he's burning the blood away with a quick blast of fire, and all she sees in his eyes is relief.
Congratulating each other on a job well done, they exit the basement of the tower in good spirits – and stop in horror when they realise they have a welcoming committee.
Greagoir's fury is terrifying to behold, but Irving is disappointed, and that's so much worse.
They've risked everything, and lost everything, and it's all for naught.
Thunder crashes in her head, and this time it seems so loud that it almost drowns out the sound of Greagoir's voice as he sentences Jowan to death, and Lily to Aeonar. But as the templars bear down on them she hears Lily's horrified plea for mercy as clear as a bell.
And finally the storm breaks.
"No! I won't let you touch her!" Jowan snarls. He pulls out a dagger from within his robes and without a moment's hesitation he plunges it into his own palm. Blood sprays out from the wound and then swirls around him. So much blood, more than it should be possible for one man to shed and still be standing. She feels Jowan's magical power focussing, much stronger than she's ever felt from him. With an outward thrust of his hands, Jowan sends the templars – along with Greagoir and Irving – flying backwards with a force she can't believe.
Blood magic.
"Jowan, no!" she cries, knowing as the words leave her lips that it's already too late.
"The rumours about you using blood magic – they're not true, are they?"
"Of course not! I'd never use blood magic!" His tone is so indignant, she feels guilty for even asking the question.
"You lied to me," she whispers hollowly, but he's not listening to her. His eyes are fixed on Lily, who is backing away from him in horror.
"By the Maker... blood magic! How could you? You said you never..."
"I admit, I... I dabbled!" he says, watching Lily with desperation in his eyes and his voice. "I thought it would make me a better mage!"
"I'll never be as good as you are. It's not fair! I try, and I try, but I just can't seem to master any of the spells the way you can."
She sighs at his petulant tone. "I'm not better than you, Jowan. I just pay more attention in lessons, and practice more, that's all."
"No, you don't understand." He slams his book closed in frustration. "It comes so naturally to you, but for me, it's like I'm fighting for control all the time. It's like..." He shakes his head. "It's like I'm doing it wrong, like I haven't found the right kind of spells for me."
She laughs at that. "They've taught us spells from every school of magic there is. What other kind of spells could there be?"
He doesn't answer, and when she turns to look at him, he's staring moodily into the distance.
She sighs again. "Sulk all you want, but it won't change anything. You just need to practice."
"I don't know who you are, blood mage," Lily says, her voice turning cold. "Stay away from me!"
Jowan flinches visibly and chokes back a sob. He takes a step back, away from Lily, and looks round wildly. His eyes meet hers, and her heart breaks at the loss and pain she sees there. She reaches out towards him, and, just for a moment, she thinks insanely that if she can only say the right thing, everything will somehow still be all right.
But her mind is still reeling from the fact that Jowan is a blood mage; she can't think of the right thing, or anything at all, really, and before she can speak he's turning away and running out of the room, heading for the tower entrance.
Leaving her, not for the first time, to face Irving alone.
First Enchanter Irving sighs. "Why must you always let Jowan lead you into trouble, child?"
She returns Irving's gaze steadily. "I don't know what you mean, First Enchanter. I haven't seen Jowan all day." He's already been set to scrubbing pots in the kitchen twice this week – if she admits to his involvement this time, she isn't sure what Irving will do.
Irving raises his eyebrows. "So you would have me believe it was your idea to set Senior Enchanter Sweeney's robes afire?" His tone makes it clear he knows well enough that it was not.
She affects a contrite expression. "What can I say, First Enchanter? It was a terrible impulse, and I should have known better. I will accept whatever punishment you see fit."
Irving sighs again. "Very well. If you are bound and determined to follow this course, I will not stop you." He frowns at her. "But mark my words, child – if you persist in covering for Jowan, he will never learn to face the consequences of his actions. And one day he may lead you into something you will live to regret."
Greagoir wants her punished for aiding a blood mage to escape, and she dully agrees that she should be held to account for what she has done, knowing it will almost certainly mean the Rite of Tranquility.
But then Duncan steps in, and events take an unexpected turn.
It is supposed to be a great honour, to be asked to join the Grey Wardens, and Greagoir is infuriated by what he sees as a reward. But to her, it just feels like a different kind of punishment. She's already lost her closest friend, and now she is to leave behind the only life she can remember.
It's not escape, although Jowan would no doubt see it as such.
It's exile.
Duncan asks her if she needs to collect any personal belongings, and she nods silently. He and Irving escort her to the apprentice quarters – she hadn't even been a Circle mage long enough for her things to be moved upstairs – and wait while she looks through the trunk at the bottom of her bed.
She pulls just one thing from it – a sketch of a young elven girl, framed against a large, open window.
"Stop fidgeting. I can't draw you if you're going to keep moving all the time."
"But I want to see!"
"You'll see it when it's done. And if you don't sit still, it will never be done."
She sighs dramatically, and resumes the pose. "This is taking forever. Can I at least practice some spells?"
"Only if you can do it without moving!"
Finally he proclaims the sketch complete. She runs over to see, and gasps. "Jowan, it's beautiful."
He shrugs. "Well, it's a picture of you, silly." He grins at her. "I hear the other boys talking sometimes, you know. You could have your pick of them, if you wanted." His grin turns mischievous. "Even that new templar – what's his name, Cullen? He's always watching you."
She blushes. "I'm not interested in any of them." She gives him a playful smack. "And it's Cullen's job to watch us, idiot."
He just smirks at her in that infuriating way of his, and she rolls her eyes before looking back at the picture. "Why did you draw a window in the background? There are no windows here." She sighs. "There are no windows anywhere in this tower."
His smile is touched with sadness. "You're always talking about the weather, and the sky, and how you wish you could see the rain, or the sun, or the stars. I can't make you a real window, but at least I can draw you one."
She stares at him open-mouthed for a moment, then throws her arms around him and kisses his cheek.
"Get off me," he laughs, pushing her away. He holds out the drawing. "Here. I drew it for you."
In that moment, she realises she loves him.
With the sketch carefully rolled up and tucked into her robes, she takes one last look back at the First Enchanter before following Duncan through the massive doors and out into the storm.
Thunder crashes above them as lightning forks through the night sky, and she pulls her cloak tightly around her as she takes a seat in the little boat that is to ferry them across the lake.
She doesn't raise the cloak's hood over her head. Within moments, her hair is plastered to her head, but she doesn't care. She lifts her face to the sky, and feels the rain on her skin, marvelling at how different the reality is from her weather sense.
It feels like freedom, and the irony of that is not lost on her; she has lost everything she held dear, because Jowan cared more about his own freedom than anything, or anyone, else.
He's been her constant companion, her best friend, since the day she came to the tower. She loved him and she trusted him completely, and he returned that trust by lying to her and putting her at risk of the very thing he feared most.
She wonders if she ever truly knew him.
The templars believe it likely he drowned in the lake; they have already searched the tiny island on which the Circle tower stands, and the only boat had been at the dock on the far side of the lake; they'd had to signal Kester to bring it over for Duncan and her.
Perhaps she should hope they are right; if he made it to shore, with no phylactery to track him by, the templars have little hope of finding him. And who knows what harm he could cause out there with his blood magic.
After everything he has done, she probably shouldn't wish for him to be safe. But as the thunder rolls overhead, she prays to the Maker that he is.