First and foremost I should remind anyone who may read this that I don't have a beta reader, though I really need one.
Eventually this will be a m/m slash fic. Might be slow to update.
Please don't be too harsh, Con-crit only; no flames.
I do not own Dragon Age.
It was bright and sunny when he woke, much as it had been the day he'd arrived at the Circle as a child. He had been no more than four years, but the cunning in his eyes was clear enough, even then. Due to his aptitude, he was mentored by the First Enchanter himself and fifteen years later found him a newly harrowed Mage on his way to great things. The same could not be said of the company he kept.
Standing in the tower chapel, he could only conclude that the man standing before him was complete idiot. Even if his phylactery hadn't already been sent to Denerim, he'd never consider aiding the fool. He did not relish the thought of constantly looking over his shoulder for the rest of his life should he have joined Jowan in his mad quest to be free. That was not freedom. It was an endless game of cat and mouse that he could do well without.
It wasn't as though the Rite of Tranquility was without its uses. Some simply weren't worthy of the gift they'd been given. If The Rite can bring peace, as well as an end to the way some apprentices carried on about being cursed, why not make use of it?
Jowan was acting entirely on impulse if their clumsy, ill-conceived plans were anything to go by. Granted, not everyone had patience enough for years of carefully laid plans, the building of confidences and the intelligent thought which went into it all…
He was an incredibly patient man. He was unashamed to admit that what his peers whispered about him in hallways and library stacks was entirely true; Samwell Surana was a selfish, arrogant prig and only out to save his own skin. Survival was the goal as far as life went, wasn't it? It wasn't that he was intentionally cruel or malicious; he just didn't understand why people tended to complicate their lives with things like sentiment or love.
Jowan, for instance, had been his best friend –his only friend in all honesty, and then friend was such a strong word— But helping him commit a crime that could get both of them killed? For this Chantry Initiate he'd never even heard of until then? Were the man thinking clearly, he'd have seen the risks far outweighed the benefits. Lily wasn't even that attractive, but he supposed Jowan was no prize either.
"There is power enough in this place to destroy all of Ferelden. What's a door to mages?" She had questioned, quite naïvely, if you asked him. A door magically imbued can be many things to mages; quite possibly, they could be things like impenetrable, impossible, and impregnable.
Where had the little tart come from anyhow? And why did Jowan hang on her every word as though she were Andraste incarnate? Clearly, she didn't know at all what she was talking about.
Going to the First Enchanter was a given. The likelihood this ridiculous plan would succeed was in the lowest percentile. Turning them in would not only keep him from a Templar's blade, but also prove his loyalty to the circle to be irrefutable. In time, it would come with its own rewards.
Sam had believed Jowan's lie about being innocent of being a maleficar, mostly because he didn't believe the apprentice had the balls to dabble in such forbidden magics. Irving had convinced him to go along with their plan in order to catch both Jowan and his lover.
Catch them they did, if by 'catch them' one meant allowing a now-proven blood mage to get the upper hand and escape. One had to imagine why mages like that pretty blonde with the clever tongue could fail six times and an utter moron like Jowan could succeed on the first attempt. That was blood magic for you.