Wynne steered them to her room, a place Jowan had never been before or was planning to go. Abigail had finally stopped shaking as she regained her equilibrium, but she looked like she was having trouble staying awake. The color hadn't returned to her face during their walk, unsurprisingly, and for the first time Jowan noticed a light purplish tint to her upper eyelids. She refused to be helped "like an old infirm" to Wynne's room, but Jowan maintained a protective arm around her shoulders anyway.

He could still smell that wet-dog scent so cleverly masked behind the slight smell of Lake Calenhad's blue freshwater. It seemed like that smell was the one constant thing in his life.

Despite his anger and jealousy, he knew she couldn't help it. She never asked for the powers and he knew she would have happily given them back if the Maker required it. The bitterness still rested on his tongue, but yet his mind was numb. He focused on the one thing he knew the most–Abby–and let it occupy him so he could gather his thoughts.

Abigail's gait was becoming smoother as they walked, her back a bit straighter, and he could feel her shoulders moving up and down in deep, even breaths intended to calm her system. She was telling her body Hey, it's okay now, stop being such a jerk. He could tell she was getting annoyed at the slow pace it was taking to recover, and he couldn't imagine why in the world she would. By the Maker, he was scared for her.

She bit off more than she could chew with this one, but Teresa's free. Whatever she did with her phylactery, it seemed to work.

The whole backbone of their plan to disguise their involvement in any way was simply acting natural throughout the entire process. Jowan still didn't know how he felt about allowing Teresa to slip away like that, unnoticed, with the self-control of a drunken dwarven berserker to roam the lands. Hopefully they wouldn't notice her absence until the middle of the day tomorrow... That's what they were counting on anyway. He hadn't talked it over with Abigail or their absentee friend ever since that night exactly one week ago when Teresa had told them what she'd been planning.

Jowan hated her decision. He absolutely hated it and he still wasn't sure why. He hated how nobody was telling him anything about her plan most of all. He tried to tell himself he just wanted to know where she was going later, even though he had a few ideas, but he knew, deep in his gut, that he really wanted to know how she destroyed her phylactery.

As far as he knew the depository was under strict magical guard and it took at least two people to open its' secrets–a Templar and a powerful Magi like the First Enchanter. Anything beyond that door was sure to have more safeguards, spells, wards, something for intruders.

So how had she done it?

It was crazy, insane even, to think she could last more than a few months while the Templars hunted her down. Even without a magical trail to follow the Templars were relentless in their assaults. They would look for her until she was dead, and that he knew. She was an apostate now.

He despised that term and everything associated with it, but this was Teresa. She had a bit of a problem in the head, sure, but she'd never succumb to a demon wiles. And as long as she took the proper protection to make sure any nearby magi didn't sense her...

That wasn't going to be pretty. Unless she'd somehow mastered an eternal shielding charm to wipe her spark away from a mage's consciousness there was no way at all she'd stay hidden longer.

The night she'd told them he'd seen both her and Abigail huddled by her bed, pouring over notes of the likes he didn't want to imagine. He'd already made it clear that he wouldn't give both her nor Abby up, but his price was to be simply ignorant of the entire thing. So he'd feigned a sudden eyesight problem and ignored them, concentrating on his paper.

Looking sideways at Abigail, his heart racing wildly now at the many thoughts tumbling around inside of his skull, he wondered if she'd thought about that part in the plan. Beneath the blank facade Jowan could see a careful tightness around the corners of her eyes. He couldn't see a pulse thudding in her throat, but he was sure if he put his fingers to her wrist that it would mimic that of a hummingbird.

"Jowan, really, I'm fine," she protested. As soon as they'd reached Wynne's quarters he'd attempted to guide her to a chair. "I made it here, didn't I?"

"Yeah, you didn't fall over," he told her, forcing a small smile. "Thanks to me."

"Thanks," she told him, rolling her eyes. She squeezed his hand and he couldn't help but notice the way she used it as a support to lower herself into one of Wynne's many sitting chairs. "I still can't believe I did that. I've never done that before."

"Don't be modest," Wynne said, busying herself at the kettle. He looked over to the red-robed Enchanter and had a sudden vision of a wrinkled behind. He abruptly turned his face away to hide a twitch of a smile on his face. "The First Enchanter has every confidence in you, and that's very high praise."

Jowan took a seat next to her and surreptitiously placed a finger on her wrist. As he expected, her pulse was thudding wildly. She shot him an annoyed look, a little color returning to her cheeks. Me, too, he mouthed. Her brow furrowed a bit worriedly and she nodded sadly, biting her lip.

Wynne turned around at exactly the wrong moment, her eyes catching Abigail's face. "Are you okay, child?"

"I'm really scared, Enchanter Wynne," Abigail said quietly, and it wasn't even a lie. "I could control every aspect of the spell, and it felt great. But what if a demon possesses me? What if–?" Her voice died away and she blinked away sudden tears in her eyes.

Jowan sincerely doubted Abigail was afraid of being possessed at all (the tears were fake, he knew it) but he gripped her hand anyway. Stall, stall, stall. "You won't," he assured her. "You're too strong for that."

"We all live with that risk," Wynne said, nullifying his statement. "And we walk a fine line between fear for our lives and overconfidence in our powers. It's a line you must learn to walk if you are to join our ranks. Casting spells such as those not only drain your own life energy–" Jowan threw a look at Abigail, surprised. "–but it calls on powerful demons to fuel it when your own energy begins to fade. If you hadn't stopped it when you did you would have fast began to waste away, an empty shell for that demon to slip inside through the connection you've established with the Fade. I'll imagine Irving is going to lecture you on it, but I think the effects now are enough of a lesson."

Jowan was getting increasingly confused and worried. "You mean... you mean she was dying?"

"As we all die a little with each of our spells," Wynne said gently, laying a cold hand on his own. He didn't know why, but women always seemed much colder in skin than men. Yet this effect was not lost on him and he had a sudden vision of a dead hand hanging on his own. "With one such as this I don't know how long the recovery time is, but I think that our young girl will recover soon. You are strong, dear."

"Why didn't they ever teach us this when we were learning to cast spells?" Abigail demanded, looking sick with this news.

"You have to understand, the most a child could accomplish with something like that is to light a candle. That's why you swim, you run, you build up your physical endurance. Your entire body is a channel for those energies, and it takes a toll like no other. And when your body gets as weak as mine?" She just smiled a bit sadly. "Well, by then you begin to focus your powers through a piece of enchanted wood–a staff. It takes longer, but it's far safer."

Abigail still had that look on her face. "But... but I thought the power of a spell was determined by the potential of the student."

"So did I," Jowan said in a low voice. "That's what they taught us. Why would all of the Enchanters lie if it could kill us?"

"Jowan, if I asked you to duplicate dear Abigail's feat, could you?" Fuming inside, he shook his head. "But if I asked you to create and isolate a small flame on a piece of timber, you could. Now imagine holding that for an entire day, two days. You'd begin to waste away. But why would you ever do that? Why would a student feel a need to test their limits in that way? Because aside from a bit of training the real lessons don't begin until you've mastered yourself enough to perform the spells!"

"Like the stuff Irving is teaching me?" she asked a bit doubtfully. "So that why he's paying such close attention to me? Because I get... creative?"

"And dangerous," Jowan muttered. "Never seen blue fire before..."

"Well, blue's my favorite color," she muttered back, the tips of her ears turning red.

Wynee gave her a long, searching look and Jowan was afraid that they'd said something wrong. "You could influence the color?" she asked a bit hesitantly.

"No..." Abigail said, biting her lip. "I just pictured the hottest fire ever, and I knew hot fires were blue."

Wynne blinked and turned away as the teapot began to steam. He noticed that she'd used an enchanted fire to heat it up, but that couldn't be right. He hadn't felt the characteristic disturbance... or had he? For the first time he noticed the staff at her feet. "Can you feel other people's magic when they're using a staff?" he asked cautiously.

"Ah, not really," Abigail said, squeezing his fingers a bit in a sorry about that sort of gesture. "Some staffs are enchanted to make a user's aura undetectable by other spellcasters if it's within proximity."

You stole a staff?! He gave her an incredulous look, which she ignored. She just squeezed his fingers again.

"Yes, that's the general idea," Wynne said, pouring their tea. She was oblivious to the silent communication going on behind her back, and Jowan was glad. He felt as if he were about to hyperventilate. "Now, how do you like your tea?"

"Tons of sugar," they said at the same time, still looking in each of the other's eyes. Jowan heard Wynne chuckle a little bit when she said, "You two are very good friends, it seems."

"The best," Abigail assured her. "Jowan's too great to let go."

"And here I was thinking it was my sense of duty..." She looked away and stuck out her tongue just slightly enough so he could see it. "Or my humor. I do love jokes."

You said not to tell you, she mouthed.

Wynne handed them a steaming cup of honeyed tea and Jowan took his gratefully, trying to quell the resentment in his gut. "So what brought you to conjure the fire?" Wynne asked, setting down the cup after a small sip.

Abigail held up a finger as she swallowed, then set it down also. She shot Jowan an embaressed glance, gentling disentangling her fingers from his own. His hand felt strangely cold without it, and he hated the feeling the coursed in his gut. "I thought the kid broke his neck," she said, jerking her head at him. "I figured 'You know what? Enough with this nonsense, I need to see to my friend.' And I kicked him away, cast the fire, and stopped as soon as I figured everything was under control. Rushed to Jow and tried to heal him... Couldn't do it for some odd reason." She grinned crookedly. "Could have sworn I did, but then this... weakness hit. I'm glad he's okay, or I would've been annoyed."

"Annoyed," he echoed. "Did it occur to you at all that I was moving?"

"When I cast the fire you weren't," she shot back. "I felt the slowing spell you used, but that was it. I didn't know if it worked or not."

"Once again, this confounded slowing spell! You must have been feeling the after-effects of that jerk's hit–hey, what did he do, anyway?"

"Your dear friend Allan seemed to think he'd knocked you away with a blast of pure energy," Wynne said, prodding his chest. "The boy will be punished and undergo remedial training. Magic is only used in special circumstances outside a classroom, and he knows that. But I defer that matter to First Enchanter Irving."

She inclined her head towards the door and Jowan felt his heart skip a beat. First Enchanter Irving, shoulders hunched with many years, seemed to radiate a kindness and individuality that suited him just fine. Even so, the sight of this aged man sent a shiver down the back of Jowan's spine and he felt a shadow of foreboding creep into his chest. His dislike of the First Enchanter couldn't be explained, but he was wary, oh so very wary.

He looked stern and worldly as he entered Wynne's room at her invitation, his eyes resting first on Abigail's pale, tired-looking face, then on the blood crusted down the side of his cheek. "We have the matter under control now," he said, his voice becoming suddenly warm and compassionate again. "How are you doing, child?"

Saying child had to be a learned habit, because Jowan could have sworn he'd heard Wynne say it just a few minutes ago. "I'm fine," he mumbled, ducking his head to sip his tea. Oh yes, very natural indeed, Jowan. Ugh.

"Fine, ser," he heard Abigail said politely.

"Would you like some tea, First Enchanter?" Wynne asked, gesturing to the kettle. To his relief, Irving shook his head. Jowan didn't fancy having a tea party with him, powerful as he may be. "The Apprentices, then?"

"Just Abigail, if she can be excused," Irving said. He caught the look on her face and smiled sadly. He held out a hand to help her up, but she refused, once again doing her duties under her own steam. "Ah, you can walk. Surprising."

"Yes, ser. I'm fine, ser."

"As I said... surprising." Irving gestured down the hall, and as they left Jowan heard him saying, "We can rest in my office if you get tired..."

Gradually their footsteps faded and Jowan could hear nothing more. Jowan took another sip of his scolding hot tea, wondering if Abigail was about to get chewed out as Wynne had predicted. To his surprise the older Enchanter was looking at him with those disconcerting bright eyes of hers and said gently, "Your relationship with her is dangerous, Jowan."

Dangerous? "How so?" he asked, trying to keep his voice light. "We're just friends, after all."

"No..." Wynne shook her head, her lips pursed. "There is something there... But I wonder if it is for good or evil. She is by nature a dangerous being to love, her personality personifying that of fire itself." She sounded almost as though she were talking to herself. She abruptly snapped out of it and placed a hand on his wrist. "Ah, look at me going on like that... It is not my place to decide for you, young man, but I would be careful about her. She can only break your heart."

"Right..." He moved his threat assessment. Upwards. "I don't think she's dangerous. She's a really good person."

"I'm sure she is," Wynne assured him. "But she's also much more than she seems, and I do hope you remember that."

"She's a better person than she seems," Jowan defended. "And we're friends. Friends only. I know we act... different around each other, but we just have a unique relationship. The hand-holding? It's been going on since we were fourteen, and nobody's stopped us for it before, or paid attention."

"I know," she said, "and I rest my case with that warning. I do hope you remember it."

"Somebody said they'd make her Tranquil because she's too powerful," Jowan said, sticking his chin out in a way he picked up from Teresa. "Is that true? Do you really make the powerful ones Tranquil, and leave people like me to be mages because we're not as prodigal?"

Wynne's eyes widened slightly. "Who told you such a thing?"

"Is it true?"

Her voice turned to steel. "I suggest you hold your tongue unless you are prepared to speak in a civilized tone, young man! Ah!" She shook her head a bit. "Unless Abigail proves herself to be as dismal as the boy who attacked you she will not be made Tranquil. We don't classify by power here, Jowan, surely you know that by now." She sighed. "Abigail is probably too powerful, yes, but that only means we'll keep a closer eye on her 'ere her Harrowing. She isn't the type of person to be swayed by a demon. She's too smart for that."

Jowan bit his lip a little bit and looked away, remembering all of the fights he'd broken up between Teresa and a group of girls who'd harassed her. He remembered Teresa muttering one day how she'd almost be glad to be a demon just to get back at them... He swallowed. "Okay. Just wondering. We don't know anything about the Harrowing, and people are freaking out. Me... included."

Had he really released a menace on the world? Teresa would have been safer in the Circle. To her credit, Wynne just nodded sadly and said, "It scared me, too. It was very terrifying."

"Can you–?"

"No, I cannot."

Jowan nodded and finished off his tea, ignoring the searing pain in his throat. "Thank you for the drink, Enchanter Wynne. And for the information."

He stood to go, and on his way out she called his name. He looked behind him, ready for a chewing out, but she merely looked old, old and withered. "We don't keep this from you by choice, but don't go tell the other Apprentices about our discussion."

He nodded shortly. "Yes, Enchanter Wynne."

Dinner, later

Jowan brought Abigail her food instead of taking it in the dining hall with everybody else. She thanked him and they proceeded to have their own two-person dinner on her top bunk. It ensured privacy to discuss whatever they wanted, and Jowan was wondering if he should bring up a certain subject... He almost felt he had to, an unmistakable urge to confide in her.

Abigail's face with hidden by a thick curtain of blonde hair as she bent over her meal. "Irving was ripping me one for the fire thing," she explained between mouthfuls of bread. She was ravenous. "Asked me if I knew what I was doing, made me explain every detail of the casting promise. He seemed almost scared."

"I still am," he said darkly. "And I still think it was stupid."

"Yeah... yeah, I know."

"Seriously. Please don't do it again." He looked hard into her eyes and took her wrist. "Please?"

She coughed and glanced back to her food. "'course not. I'm not completely idiotic. I love living, after all."

"Considering you're still gaining that life back I should be relieved," he said dryly. They were quiet for a long time until he said, almost off-handidly, "So where do you think Terrorcita is?"

"Oh, probably crashed out in a closet, dreaming about Redcliffe..." Abigail glanced at the top bunk across, Teresa's bed, and her toes pat the fabric on the bed in a pattern of nervousness he recognized well. "That's where she's going, by the way. She'll lead the Templars in a round trip towards Denereim, to the Orlais border, and circle back towards Redcliffe. That plan she made us memorize was actually her escape route, only she never told us. And she always talked about Redcliffe, Redcliffe, Redcliffe. That's where she's going."

Jowan nodded, already accepting this. "Yeah, I worked that out... I'm glad she warned us beforehand. But we need to act the same way we would if we never knew. Frantic. Worried. Probably until we finish our Harrowings, and then we'll meet her in Redcliffe. How does that sound?"

"How could we find her if she had, a, erm, staff?"

Abigail giggled. "You liked that part, didn't you? Maybe a little bit?"

"No!" he snapped. "I don't even want to know how you pulled that off, Ab, but do you know how much trouble you would've gotten in if they caught you? Any idea–?"

"Almost as much as helping her escape?" Abigail murmured, smiling.

"Uh, yeah," Jowan said, scratching his head. "If she's killed, we'll, uh, we'll know it, right? They'll tell us?"

"Yes," Abigail answered without a doubt. "The Enchanters will tell us... hopefully." She took a sip of their apple juice and set it carefully on the bed post. "You're my best friend, you know that, right? I wasn't joking when we were in Wynne's office."

He ducked his head, embarrassed. "I know. Thanks for that, by the way. You're my best friend, too." The words of Wynne he long held secret. I love you. Do you love me? It was a question he was too afraid to ask. "And I'd be seriously... annoyed if you died today."

"Ah, thank you," she said wryly. "I do appreciate that."

"The world of best friends..."

"The best."

"And sometimes the worst."

"But we always pull through."

She smiled at him and he couldn't help but smile back, and soon they were giggling to themselves, just enjoying themselves in a short-lived moment that seemed to stretch forever. They talked about inconsequential things for a while, and then he took her plate and his own and retreated back to the dining rooms to help clean up. Abigail stayed back to rest up, and he knew in his heart she'd be nearly back to normal tomorrow. A few people, most notably Allan, asked about her and he just raised his hand politely and said, "It tired her out, so she's sleeping. Irving already interrogated her about it, too, so leave her alone."

Reluctantly they went away and back to their dormitories, but Jowan didn't feel like going back with them. After finishing up he espied a cutting knife on the side of the table and, after a moment of hesitation, pocketed it after a quick look around. Then, without a real idea of what he was doing, he walked to the Chantry's chapel.

It was deserted, like he knew it would be, but he still looked around a bit before making his prayers.

"Dear Maker," he whispered, "give me strength and give me resolve to get through the remaining days within this Tower. Watch over me. I give you my love and devotion and wish for your blessing. Amen."

He bowed his head for a long moment, completing his small nightly prayer, and thought about the knife in his pocket. He began to remember a discussion held only two years ago, when things seemed normal...

Do you need to have training to be a blood mage?

Couldn't, you know, tell us so we don't accidentally do it?

Bryce never did explain it and Abigail never went into it further, but after that morning, after Teresa's escape and his own downfall at the hands of a younger Apprentice, after Abigail's awesome display of power...

He just needed a boost. That was all. He didn't want to control anybody, not really.

He gripped the handle in his palm, hardly daring to believe what he was doing. He stayed in that position for a long time, weighing his chances, wondering about the technicalities, then cut with a swift motion. He grunted at the harsh sting of the cut, reaching his mind out, searching for the energy within.

It burned there, silent and strong, and he couldn't believe he'd never noticed it before.

He reached into the Fade, drawing on the strength of the blood magic, and was surprised at how easier it was. He hardly made a disturbance in the Circle Tower's magical aura as he sought for the healing energy and allowed it to flow into his wound.

The cut flowed closed as though in some sort of very strange time lapse and Jowan felt his newfound strength ebb away as the blood began to dry. He sucked on the now-closed cut, trepidation rising in his chest, and couldn't believe what he'd just done.

Abigail was right. She was right. You didn't need training to become a blood mage.

He bowed his head, his mind racing, and placed the knife within his pocket to return to the kitchens on his way back.

He was shaking. From fear or joy, he could not tell, but he knew this was a secret he could never tell Abigail, no matter his feelings for her. He looked at her sleeping face as he passed and he felt a tenderness stir beneath his newfound doubt.

I love you, you know. I'm just too much of an idiot to say so.

"Anybody see Teresa yet?" he asked, walking towards a group of girls. "She said she'd be here later..."