The usual disclaimer is still in place. Also, a huge thank-you to everyone who's following this story.

Chapter Three: Farewells

The night crawled on, and the candle burned low. Arenyth's eyes were gritty, and the stone beneath her was turning icy. The base of her spine felt knotted and painful, and she knew she should be in bed, and asleep, and hopefully not dreaming of darkspawn. Instead, she still sat with him, silently now, waiting for the dawn.

Jowan's skin was cold. As she had already done too many times tonight, she turned his hands over, explored his scarred palms. "Do they hurt?"

"No."

"I didn't think…I thought blood mages would usually…cut other people."

One side of his mouth hitched up. "Other blood mages probably do. Other blood mages probably don't hide it from everyone and quiver in fear every time a templar walks past."

She remembered how afraid he had been, that morning he had cannoned into her, babbling something about secrets and hatred and the Harrowing and the Tranquil.

"Are the rumours true?"

He scowled. "What? No! I've never…I'd never use blood magic. Don't you know that? Don't you know me?"

"I wanted to believe you."

"About…when I said…?"

"Yes." She followed a long, curving scar with the tip of one finger. "I wanted to. But…Maker, Jowan. There was some terrible part of me that was not really all that shocked."

"With my big revelation, you mean?" The same smile stayed, slightly sardonic, mostly sad. "I didn't…really know what I was doing. I just wanted to get out, and then Irving and Greagoir were there, and we were almost free, but…"

Woken power, rippling through disturbed air, whining and slicing and the templars fell screaming, clawing at their own throats. She spun round, stared at him in horrified disbelief. There seemed to be blood everywhere, streaming from the dreadful wound on his hand, on his face, on the floor. She almost wanted to run to him, bolt into his arms and check that he was alright, but how could he be?

"I know. I just…" She shook her head.

"I have…blood magic. There may be little time, and we don't have enough lyrium here to perform such a ritual. But I could…send someone into the Fade. Using…well, blood."

She remembered how he had avoided her eyes, how he had stared at the floor just in front of Lady Isolde's feet. How he had gripped the bloodstained, fraying ends of his sleeves in white fingers and twisted them.

"You didn't just dabble, did you?"

"No. I didn't." Jowan stared down at their linked hands. "Do you know what troubled me most, when I ran?"

"Lily?"

He winced. "To begin with. And it still does. I lied to her. She thought she was in love with someone much…purer than me. But I…" He lifted his head. "I knew I'd killed those templars. I saw Greagoir fall over, and I hoped I'd killed him, as well. But I didn't know what had happened to you."

"I hit the ground, rather hard."

"I didn't…hurt you?"

She laughed faintly. "I hurt my knees."

"Oh." His gaze darted. "I didn't want to hurt you."

Very gently, she traced her fingers along the backs of his hands, down the slender lines of his wrists. She remembered another night, so very different, when they had sat cross-legged and facing each other, and she had held both of his hands like this. "How did they find you?"

"They had horses, and I didn't. They had maps, and you know what I'm like."

"Got lost in the small library once, as I recall."

"I was nine years old."

"Stop evading."

"I killed three of them." This time, he did not look away. "I thought the others would be sure to kill me once they got close. Their friends…did not die well. But they just…they knocked me out, and tied me up and gagged me, and then some other soldiers took me to see Teyrn Loghain. I don't know if they were templars as well. I don't think so."

"Lucky you," she muttered sourly. "And then you poisoned Arl Eamon."

"Yes. I didn't…Arenyth, I am sorry."

"Stop saying that. Or I'll…" She scowled through sudden, welling tears. "I'll burn your eyebrows off. With a lightning bolt."

"You never could aim those very well."

"I could aim better than you." She caught her lip between her teeth. "Jowan…how did we come to this?"

"I'm a fool, Arenyth," he said eventually. "That's how we came to this."

He was right, she supposed, but Maker's wisdom, it still hurt. "No, I…I didn't help. I…when we fought. When we…"

When we stopped seeing each other, she wanted to say, but the words stayed trapped in her throat. A stupid, petty argument, born of too many late nights and frayed nerves, and her quick tongue and his sullen temper. But she had stormed away, and he shouted something awful after her, and she had sulked, and he for once had not caved. They were young and foolish and she remembered one of the senior enchanters admonishing her for letting such a childish relationship go too much to her head. They had too much to concern themselves over, learning spells and how to hold arcane shields and how to confront the rippling mysteries of the Fade. Preparing for the Harrowing that they knew left some apprentices dead.

"I'm sorry."

"Jowan…"

"No, I mean it. About that. I never said I was sorry, and I was."

An awkward, stilted kind of friendship picked up again, eventually, after she cornered him in the dormitories one night and informed him she was damned tired of having to duck the other way whenever she saw him approaching. But they never went to the library after dark again, and by the time things were more as they had been, and she had dredged up the courage to ask if they could, he had nervously told her that he had met a girl.

"I wish," he said, and stopped. "Well, it doesn't matter what I wish."

She looked down at his hands again, traced the backs of his fingers. Finely made, and pale, and she had always thought them beautiful. "What was Loghain like?"

"Angry." He shifted, moving closer to the bars. Clasping her hands between his, he smiled. "Your hands are still so small."

"Did you expect them to grow?"

"You are a Grey Warden now." He did not let go, instead mirrored her, trailing the tips of his fingers over the backs of her knuckles. "Aren't you all meant to be ten feet tall and capable of killing twelve darkspawn with a single swipe?"

"Idiot."

"I see I haven't lost my touch at flattery, then?"

"Jowan, you never had one."

"Now you're lying," he said, quietly.

"Arenyth. Oh…you look…"

"Mmm?" She grinned up at him. The robes were new, and fell in deep crimson folds to her ankles. A cream sash criss-crossed around her hips and waist, knotted at the small of her back and dangling. For once she had pulled her hair out of its everyday braid and the long, thick locks spilled over her shoulders. "I look…?"

"Beautiful." He reached out, gently brushed the soft line of the collar, dipped his fingers inside to touch her throat. "You look beautiful."

"Flatterer."

"Yes." He slid his hand through her hair slowly. "It would be such a shame to lose this to a poorly blocked fire spell. Please keep it tied back when you practice."

She groaned. "You've set your hair, your robes, your shoes, and Enchanter Dhekira's eyebrows on fire in the past month. You're the dangerous one of the two of us."

"Very funny," he muttered.

"I'm sorry." She leaned up and kissed his cheek. "Come with me."

"Arenyth, it's the middle of the day. We can't…"

"Yes, we can. I know you don't have anywhere to be right now. And Enchanter Grennan told me to go make myself useful elsewhere because he had to go and see the First Enchanter about something."

"Something important?"

"He didn't say. They never say, you know that." She caught his wrist, tugged. "Come on." She led him up the twisting, cold stone stairs, under a last, high archway, and towards the guest chambers. After checking the corridor again, she opened the door and steered him inside.

"Arenyth…these are the guest rooms. We shouldn't be up here."

"No one knows we're here." Firmly, she shut the door and led him across to the bed. "And no one is going to be looking for us."

"Oh…"

"Oh," she echoed, smiling.

She kissed him deeply, taking her time, letting her hands wander up his chest to cup his chin. His fingers tangled and caught in her hair. She explored the sharp angles of his face, the narrow lines of his shoulders, trembling slightly beneath his robes. Underneath, she discovered that his skin was marble-pale and soft, and she could see his pulse fluttering wildly at his throat. When she guided him to the ties on her robes, to the thick knot in the sash, he fumbled them apart. She let herself tumble backwards onto the bed, pulling him down with her. Everything suddenly became complicated, and his knees kept bumping against hers, and he apologised again, then winced when her elbow glanced against his stomach.

"Jowan," she murmured. "It's alright. Slow down."

His hands were cool as they travelled across her skin, tentative at first. He kissed her again, clumsily, his stubble rasping against her chin. She dug her fingers through his unkempt black hair, felt him shudder when she raked her nails across his scalp. She rolled on top of him, marveled at the way her hips fit against his, so obviously, and so perfectly.

"Arenyth." His voice came out slightly strangled. "Are you sure..?"

"I'm sure." She leaned down, captured his mouth again. "I want you."

He groaned, and his arms locked around her. She laughed, and saw him smiling in response as they surged together. Her head dropped against his shoulder, and she lost herself, heard him whispering her name over and over, while his hands ran up and down her back.

Afterwards, she sprawled across his bare chest, her head nestled against the crook of his shoulder. His fingers played tenderly through her hair. Through the window, she could see the cobalt glow of early twilight. They would have to move, and soon, but for now, she was content to lie tangled with him. Beneath her cheek, she could feel his heartbeat, finally slowing down.

"Jowan?"

"Mmm-hmm?"

"Is this…what you wanted?"

"You're asking that now?" He tilted her chin up, and she saw that his face was open and content and slightly drowsy. "Yes. Yes, this is what I wanted." He turned onto his side, gathered her hands between his. "Your hands are so small."

"Do you remember..?"

"Yes," she answered, too quickly. Oh, yes, she remembered. "When we went to the Tower, I asked about you."

"You did?" He frowned. "Why?"

"I wanted…" She shook her head. "I don't know. I wanted to know if they'd found you. If they knew where you were. They didn't."

"Even after," Jowan said. "Even after everything?"

"Yes. Oh, yes."

"They didn't tell you anything?"

"No. They said you hadn't been seen. That they supposed you were dead." It had hurt so very much, and she had managed to grit her teeth and grin at Greagoir's faint smile. She had prowled away, feeling like she had just taken a kick to the gut, and had snarled at Alistair when he asked if she was alright, and did she want to talk about it?

"What was the Tower like?" Jowan asked, tremulously.

"In pieces. Uldred got back from Ostagar and decided to unleash a horde's worth of demons." She summoned up a brittle smile. "Gregoir wanted to call for the Rite of Annulment."

"He would."

"Maybe this time he was right."

"You don't mean that. Do you?"

"Not really." She reached out for his hands again, heard him sigh. "But, Maker, Jowan…it was horrible."

Quietly, she told him how it had been, how they had cut their way through the libraries, across carpets littered with the dead, while the air stank of spent magic and spilled blood. How Uldred and his followers had dragged mages and templars up into the Harrowing chamber, and done terrible things to them. How the sloth demon's spell had proved too strong, and she had fled through the shifting, wrenching corridors of the Fade, trying to find her friends. How Uldred had finally fallen, his head cleaved from his shoulders, and the awful thing he had become had slumped across the stone floor, unmoving and sickening.

"You're braver than me. You always were."

"You're brave," she said. "Just usually for the wrong reasons."

"Oh, that makes me feel so much better about myself."

"Sorry."

A practice round in one of the classrooms, and it should have been routine, mundane even. Shields to be flung up and held, and needling ice spells to be deflected, avoided, or just plain dodged. She was tired, and even before it was her turn to be called up by the instructor, she was yawning and wondering when the lesson might end. Two apprentices stepped up before her, and she listened vaguely to the instructor's brisk criticism.

Last night had been spent in one of the empty guest rooms upstairs. They had planned to creep back down to the dormitories afterwards, but he had sat up, half-naked, run a hand through that thick black hair, and she had tackled him. Ploughed into him shoulder-first, pitching him down onto the bed again, and swung his arms above his head while he laughed at her.

"Arenyth. Arenyth, are you with us? Arenyth?"

She jolted out of her daydream and grinned sheepishly. "Right here, ser."

And then, quite suddenly, it had all gone wrong. The first barrage of spells she managed to hold off. The second left her trembling and with sweat ribboning her temples. The third bit through her shields, and when she spun and tried to evade, the follow-up spell crashed into her. She heard the instructor calling her name, and someone else, and then the carpet rushed up to meet her.

Later, she woke to the smell of mixed herbs and lye soap and beeswax candles. Keeping her eyes closed, she breathed in and smiled. She shifted slightly, felt dry cotton move against her skin. Under her cheek, she felt soft, sliding fabric, and the warmth of someone else.

"Don't move," Jowan said. "You passed out in the classroom. Do you remember?"

"Mmm. Yes. My head hurts."

"You fell over."

She opened one eye, found herself staring at the loose folds of Jowan's blue robes, and the wall beyond. She was lying across her bunk, she realised, with her head in his lap. "Did they come and tell you?"

"No. I came to find you for dinner, and they told me you'd fainted." He traced his fingers down the side of her cheek, twined through her hair. "You scared me."

"Heh. You weren't there when I keeled over."

"They wouldn't let me see you at first. Said you needed to rest."

"So you blazed in and burned the door down and demanded that you should?"

"No, I…agreed, walked off, sulked about it, and came back later."

"You're so brave." She turned over, so that she was leaning against his thigh. "I don't know what happened. Well, I do, but…oh, Maker. I don't feel all that wonderful."

"It's alright. Apparently you can take a couple of days to do nothing but sleep."

"Mmm. How tempting." She nuzzled into his palm. "Thank you."

"For what?"

"Being here."

Much later, she surfaced from odd, disturbing dreams. Rolled over, reached out and touched nothing but rumpled sheets. "Jowan?"

"Was ordered off to sleep," replied the healer gently. "He was with you all night."

"Oh." She sat up, winced when her head spun. "Is he alright?"

"Just tired." The healer smiled. "I thought I was going to have to get someone to help me drag him out."

"What are you thinking about?"

"Nothing," she lied. "Well…I was trying to imagine you trying to teach Connor magic."

"What?"

"You hate children. You always have. You even hated children when you were a child."

"It was trying," he said. "Oh, what am I even saying? It was awful."

Arenyth laughed, softly. "I'm not envious." She looked up, saw that the candle was dying in its wax, its flame a yellow blur behind the panes of the lantern. That meant dawn was fast approaching, she knew. "Jowan, are you afraid?"

"No," he said. "Yes. Yes, but…"

She looked up at him, into his searching blue eyes. "We could get you out of here. You could run away. Properly this time," she said, close to frantic. "We could…I could…I'm a Grey Warden. I could get you out of the castle. I don't know where you could go, but you'd be away, and safe, maybe, and…"

"No." He lifted both of her hands, seemed to change his mind, and just cradled them instead. "It's too late."

"No, it isn't." The bars were cold against the insides of her wrists. "I could talk to Bann Teagan. I could…Maker, I could just melt the locks and get you out. No questions, no arguments."

"And when Bann Teagan realizes that the man who tried to kill his brother is gone?"

"You'll be far away from here, and so will I, and then I'll save his brother, so he'll have no room to argue." Her eyes prickled, and she scowled angrily. "I don't want…I don't want you to die."

"It's too late, Arenyth. You know that. I've done too much."

"Maker above. Jowan, I…" Her eyes were flooding, and she wondered if she could blame exhaustion, or the trials of being a Grey Warden, or the simple, plain truth that she had missed him, so much. "I don't want to go."

"I know."

They would come for him, she knew, the Circle mages and the templars, and take him back to the Tower. And she would leave, and walk out freely, despite how she had once helped him. She had been pardoned, if only through Duncan's insistence, and Jowan had been left behind. Not left behind, the rational half of her mind stated. He ran. Ran after Lily told him to stay away, and he ran with his own blood on his hands and made it out of the Tower.

"You used to hate waiting," she said. Her mouth tasted sandy, and her heartbeat was hurtling too fast. You knew it would end like this. You knew, the instant you saw him in this cell.

"Arenyth." Jowan reached through the bars, touched her hair where it spilled over her shoulder. "I am so sorry. For everything."

"I wish…well, some part of me wishes…I could be there."

"Yes," he answered. "But you need to find the Urn, and after that, well. This won't matter. I won't matter."

"You will always matter, you idiot," she snapped. "I've known you forever. We…" But the words dried up in her throat, and she just blinked rapidly.

He wrapped a thick lock of her hair around his fingers. "I never meant…"

"It doesn't matter. I could get you out." It was absurd, she knew. The Redcliffe guards would stop her, Bann Teagan would stop her, Alistair and Wynne would stop her. He had poisoned Eamon Guerrin, and nowhere would mercy be found for such an act. "Jowan, I can't lose you to this."

The stairwell door crashed open, and she jumped. Torchlight flooded into the narrow corridor. Footsteps followed, hard and staccato against the damp stone. She was tempted to leap away from the bars, but no, she was not going to see him again, so Maker help her, but she was not going to leave him bereft, not now, not after everything.

She noticed Wynne first, her face serene and not set in reproach.

"Arenyth. It's dawn."

She swallowed, and it was almost painful. "Wynne, I need…can I have a few moments?"

Wynne shook her head slowly. "We need to leave, now. Irving is…he's sending templars down."

She wanted to argue, wanted to rail at Wynne and tell her to take her damn message right back to the First Enchanter and explain that she would leave when she was ready. But there was no time, and Grey Warden or not, she was standing beside a maleficar, and they owned his fate. More footsteps rang against the stairs, and Arenyth pushed up to her feet. Ignoring Wynne's plea to hurry, she reached through the bars, pulled Jowan close.

"I'm sorry," she said. "For everything. I don't want to go."

"Ssh. It's alright. I'm just…rather glad I saw you again."

She laughed then, a desperate, gulping kind of laugh. "There's so much I want to say to you."

"It doesn't matter. I'm just so sorry."

"Jowan."

"You need to go," he said, as gently.

"No, I…" But she had to, and she could hear the others in the stairwell, jostling and muttering. His name rolled past her lips again, some kind of talisman. "I'm going to miss you." Before she could think better of it, she leaned forward, kissed his fingers where they were wrapped around hers. His skin was cool and soft, quite like she remembered it. "Jowan…you mean everything to me."

"No, I don't." Something flickered across his face, something old and sad and shadowed. "You don't need to lie to me."

"I'm not. It's the truth. You always have."

"Arenyth." Wynne caught her elbow. "We need to go. Now."

"I know." She lifted Jowan's hand, pressed her lips to the wide, pale scar on his palm. Her throat felt tight, achingly so, but she raised her head. The look in his eyes nearly undid her, but she managed a smile. "Goodbye, Jowan."

His fingers tightened around hers before slipping away. "Goodbye. My friend."

If she did not leave now, she knew she would stay, or sob, or both. And you are a Grey Warden and can do neither. So she turned away, biting the inside of her cheek hard enough that she tasted blood. She was aware of Wynne behind her, a gentle hand cupped over her shoulder, and Alistair and Leliana waiting at the steps.

She kept her gaze on the wall, on the thin lines and cracks in the stone. "The First Enchanter is upstairs still?"

"Yes," Wynne answered.

"Then I wish to speak to him."

"Arenyth," Wynne said, warningly. "This is not the wisest choice."

She held a hand up. She needed to get out of this dungeon, and quickly, away from its fetid air and the memories of the mage still standing at the bars. "I seem to remember a little moment where we saved the Tower. I think he owes me a few words at least, yes?"