((Title's taken from a Bob Dylan song, although in my head I always hear the Flying Pickets.

The first chapter mainly serves to tie loose ends, at least some. It will all make more sense later. You know me. There'll be a more thorough A/N in the next chapter. Next update may take a while, but I need the start out of my system.

This first chapter is a bit opaque. If you know who the people are (you only have a chance if you've read at least one of the novels and my two other Dragon Age texts ), have fun! If not, you'll find out eventually.

Regarding timeline, this chapter is mostly pre-Inquisition, the next just after Wicked Eyes and Wicked Hearts. The second bit is a little later than the first, the third already very close to the actual text.

Romance (well, one) is marked and will be addressed in the next A/N. If you take offence, hold it tight and leave with it.

Chapter heading is a Within Temptation song. I do think it fits all three people.))

Chapter 1

It's the Fear

He wanted to gasp for much needed air, but he couldn't. He might be heard. It was as it had been the first time he was on the run, only different. Then, he had nothing to lose. If he'd been caught, he'd have died without much of a fight. Now, he had a reason to throw all he had to whoever came for him. He'd give them a fight they'd never forget. Even if it was a Templar. He'd learned things that would surprise even them. The bundle cradled in his arms was trembling so badly he wondered if she was ill. 'Daddy, please,' the soft voice whispered, making him ache inside.

'Quiet. You've got to be quiet.' Or we're both dead. He didn't say that, hardly allowed himself to think it. Too close, the steps moved past him. His heart was beating so hard a more irrational man might fear that it would betray them. For no matter who they were, templars or rebel mages, they were enemies. He was a traitor either way. 'Listen,' he said, brushing the dark hair out of her face with a shaking hand. 'We're going … we're going to hide. Thank the Maker my clothes don't scream mage.' In fact, they screamed warrior. Someone who knew business would see that the leather covering him hid mail, and the sword at his side would all but fly into his hand at a thought. There was also a very small dagger.

'But …' He shook his head and pressed his lips against her forehead.

'No. Listen. My name is Levyn.'

'Your name is …'

'Please! Look … these people, they want to hurt you. And me, too. And we need to hide.' He swallowed, forced himself to smile. 'We'll play pretend. I am Levyn. You are Ally.'

'Will Mom come?' The question made him want to give in to the pain and sit back and cry. He couldn't. Not now. They had fought before he had left to fetch the frightened girl. Who she called Mom had wanted to keep him safe, but he had sworn to protect the poor kid with his life. In the end, he'd received a watery kiss, a plea to stay alive, and the whispered compliment that he had turned from a coward into a true protector. He found himself pretty craven, scared as he was. But he was trying.

'I … not now, my love. But she's all right.' Maker, please, let her be all right. 'She's in Haven. She'll come when she can.'

'But if we hide …'

'Hey,' he interrupted her again, smiling for real this time. 'We're going to pretend to be peasants, but we're still mages. Never forget it.'

'I can't use any magic, can I?'

'I'll keep teaching you, but we've both got to be very, very careful.'

'If I don't learn, a demon will take me.'

'They told you that, did they?'

'Yes. I can't heal anything.' He nearly laughed. She didn't have his blood, but she was sometimes very much like him.

'I know the feeling. You'll learn, my darling. Be patient. Where we're going, there are no other mages and no templars. Just us. And Mommy … she'll find us. And if she doesn't, we'll find her. But for now, we've got to vanish. To the world, we're dead, you and I, burning bodies back at the Tower. We're Levyn and Ally. Your Mom, we'll tell them, died when our farm was destroyed by … by apostates. Yes, they'll believe that willingly enough.'

'Will I go back to the Circle?'

'What Circle? The one that just got torn apart? No, my sweet, you're staying with me now. Whatever it takes, I'll never let anyone hurt you.'

'Aisling and Anders …' He shook his head, refusing to let their fates really get through to him just yet. His two best friends had done all they could to give him time to run with the child. They had paid with their lives, the image of Anders's burnt face and Aisling's head flying away while her body slumped to the ground forever branded into his memory.

'They're gone, love. I couldn't stop it. They're gone.'

Ϡ

A voice screaming havoc in her head, a voice that should not be there. A voice that had stolen half her friends. A voice that tried to force her into despair.

But she could not give in. Not when the one she loved might well be in captivity or worse. Until she set that right, she had to be strong, even when everyone else was gone, had scattered to the winds; to Kirkwall; to the breaking Circle of Ferelden; to wherever this thing was luring them – not to give in, but to destroy it if they could; to the Temple of Sacred Ashes. When they were all gone and she was almost alone, the letters, promised to arrive one per day, had ceased. Coincidence? Oh no. Maker have mercy on whose fault it was, because she most certainly would not. She released the prisoner they'd kept for too long. He looked up, stared at her, disbelief clear on his face.

'You can go. Whatever you looked for in Vigil's Keep, it's not here. Go away.'

And now, for the first time, he spoke, his voice low and deep. 'I believed I would be executed. Or left to starve.'

She shook her head and glanced at the letter still clutched in her hand; the last one she'd received, too long ago. 'I don't know who you are. Maker, I don't even know what exactly you are. All I know is that I need to go to Kirkwall.'

For a moment, the elf frowned and he looked almost eager. Then his shoulders slumped forwards and he swallowed. 'Thank you, Warden Commander. I hope you find what you seek there. I know I did not.'

Ϡ

'We need help.' They both knew it, but so far, she hadn't uttered the words.

'Why? Everyone gets kids.' Denial, then. A mage should never allow himself denial, but it was so easy. For a mage as much as anyone else. As much as for a templar.

'Not everyone's addicted to lyrium! That aside, if the wrong people find out just who and what we are … I can't even think of it.'

The fight bled out of her friend and lover, giving way to a deep desperation. His arms came around her, pulling her close. 'And where do you suggest we find that help?' The words were muttered into her neck.

She pulled away and their eyes met, the answer already there. 'We both know from whom. And we both know where he is.'