They gathered in Jowan and Alistair's room to talk the next day after breakfast. Alistair and Jowan took seats on the bed, Alistair with his legs outstretched across the width of it and his back against the wall, Jowan sitting cross-legged near the edge. Owen took the only chair in the room – thankfully a fairly substantial one – and straddled it, his arms resting on the back. Zevran seated himself on the floor nearby with his back against the wall, knees raised, his crossed arms resting on them.

"So what did you see?" Owen asked.

"Many things, most of which I see no need to describe; I am sure you can guess well enough what sort of ugly things happened to her while she was in Vaughan Kendall's hands. It was very strange – that more surface part of her seemed convinced that she'd been killed that night; that she'd died and never escaped. Yet once I got past that, to where I could see her, and not just her memories... inside herself, she is still fighting. Her mind uses imagery from fights; as if she's sparring. It seemed as if she was holding off a group of unseen attackers. I could see her there, unarmed and half-undressed, the memories and the emotions they raise were coming at her like daggers thrown out of darkness. She tried to fend them off, but had only empty hands and tattered cloth to defend herself with. They cut into her, over and over again..." He broke off, and shuddered. "It was even more nightmarish in some ways than the true memories. But that her inner self is still fighting, that she hasn't given up... that gives me hope that she can be healed."

"So what do we do next?" Alistair asked.

"I'm not sure," Jowan said, turning his head to look back over his shoulder at the other man. "Influencing the mind through dreams... I know it can be done, but it isn't anything I've ever done myself, and I know very little about it. There were only a few passing references to it in some of the books I read. Even finding my way into her dream last night was guesswork; doing anything more will be much more difficult."

"Is there nowhere that we might learn more of how this influencing is done?" Zevran asked.

Owen frowned and shook his head. "Unlikely. The library at Kinloch Hold has some books on blood magic, but they were removed from general availability generations ago; only the most senior and trusted of enchanters are allowed access to them any more, and then only under the most restricted of circumstances. The Chantry would destroy the books entirely, but it is necessary to understand how blood magic works for it to be identified and successfully countered."

Jowan spoke up. "The books I found and learned from were ones that had been missed; hidden away by someone and forgotten. And even so, they were books that had only the smallest of mentions of the subject – a chapter here, a paragraph or two there, where some blood magic technique might be briefly referred to. And a single ancient scroll detailing the first few steps of becoming a blood mage; a primer, likely centuries old."

"Yet there must be more sources than those," Zevran pointed out. "Blood mages learn their magic somewhere; look at how many we have encountered in the last year."

"It might be that they learn it from the demon they contract with as part of becoming a blood mage," Jowan said. "But I am hesitant to try and communicate with my demon if there is any other way to learn; talk with demons is always dangerous, they are very good at convincing people to do foolish things."

"Such as becoming a blood mage in the first place?" Owen asked, one corner of his mouth lifting slightly.

Jowan smiled, looking momentarily embarrassed. "Yes. I'd meant to only read the books for knowledge, not to ever actually use blood magic myself. The temptation to try a single spell from the primer... I don't know which is more to blame in the end, my own curiosity or the demon that is now connected to me, who may well have somehow influenced me beforehand to give in to such curiosity."

"I would almost call it a pity that we always kill maleficar so quickly when we've encountered them," Zevran said, showing his teeth in a broad grin that had little of any real humour in it. "Why, if we were not so precipitate in slaying them when they attack us, we might have many at hand to question about the roots of their magic."

Alistair made a noise as if starting to speak, then broke off and frowned in obvious thought. The other three looked questioningly at him.

"You have thought of something?" Zevran asked after a minute.

"Maybe," he said, then glanced from Jowan to Owen. "I was suddenly reminded about one of the tasks Arren and his group did when we were all doing all that running around between returning to Denerim and the Landsmeet. I don't think you two were around when Arren and Morrigan were telling me about it..."

"Ah!" Zevran exclaimed, sitting up straighter, having quickly guessed the direction Alistair's thoughts had gone; he had been present for the conversation in question.

"They cleared out a blood mage coven here in Denerim itself; they had a whole warren under some buildings on the edge of the noble quarter. Living quarters, an armoury, dining hall... everything they needed for a rather comfortable life. And Morrigan was teasing Mara a little about it because she'd kept wanting to stop and..."

"...and look at their books," Zevran said with him, grinning widely.

"So you think we might be able to find something about blood magic among whatever books they had?" Owen asked, sitting up straighter, a look of interest on his face.

"If they had any on the subject, and if the books weren't destroyed, and if we can find out where they were taken, yes," Alistair said. "It's at least possible."

"A lot of ifs. But our first step is obvious; locating Sergeant Kylon. It is to him that Arren passed word of the warren; he is most likely to both know any answers about what subsequently happened to its contents, and be willing to share them with us," Zevran pointed out.

Jowan and Owen both nodded. "Especially if we have Arren do the asking," Jowan suggested, then unfolded his legs and rose to his feet. "We should go find him before he vanishes off on some other errand."

"I'll go ask him, no need for all of us to go," Alistair said, rising from the bed as well. "I'll be right back."

Jowan nodded agreement, and sat back down again. Alistair stepped over his legs and hurried out of the room. The three sat in silence for a moment.

"How is your shape-shifting going?" Zevran asked, looking toward Jowan. "Have you picked up a winged shape yet?"

Jowan grimaced. "No. I haven't really had time to work on it since we arrived in Denerim, we've all been so busy. If we're here for long enough I hope to have the time to finally learn one."

"What are you thinking of learning?" Owen asked, and glanced at Zevran. "I know we saw you studying a raven at Redcliffe Castle."

Jowan nodded. "Yes, after talking with Zevran one day about what birds that would be large enough and common enough to be both an easier form to take and not raise too much interest among anyone spotting me, I think a crow or raven would be a good choice."

"There are always seagulls, too," Zevran said, and flashed a brief look at Owen, who glanced at him with suppressed amusement.

Jowan didn't notice the by-play between the two, already shaking his head. "Some varieties of them are certainly a nice large bird, but they're more coastal. And seasonal; I'd stand out inland in winter a little too much, I think. And I want to avoid any bird that people commonly kill for food, so that leaves out all geese or ducks. And swans. All of which are also seasonal birds. No, it comes down to things like crows and ravens, mostly. Owls or hawks or eagles are too noticeable, or have other limitations. Though it might be worth learning owl too some day, for travel at night."

"Why don't you also learn how to shape-change, Owen?" Zevran asked, looking questioningly at him.

Owen shrugged. "It's an intriguing skill, but it doesn't particularly interest me."

Zevran frowned slightly. "Not even when it might help you to remain out of the chantry's hands, if you so chose?"

Owen sighed. "I'm... truthfully, I'm not entirely sure that I want to remain outside the tower. Life as an apostate, having to fear discovery all the time... I don't think that's for me. Especially not when I'm such an easily recognizable person. I do like being back out in the world – and I have reasons to want to stay out, yes," he added, giving Zevran a rather smouldering look. "But it would be better to be outside of the Circle with Chantry permission and have all the required travel documents, as Mara and I currently are, and as Jowan now is. To still have the Circle available as a place I can return to, to use the library again if nothing else," he added, lips twitching in amusement.

Jowan smiled crookedly. "I never wanted to leave; the Circle was all I'd ever known. Circumstances forced me out. But now that I'm out... I like that I can now go back, if I want to, but I want to stay out. With Alistair," he said, a note in his voice that made the other two smile understandingly at him. "If it came to a choice between the two... yes, I'd turn apostate again. Beg Arren to allow me to take the joining, and become a Grey Warden, if that was what it took to stay by his side."

Owen smiled fondly at his friend. "You love him very much."

Jowan smiled happily. "He's the best thing that's ever happened to me. I'll do whatever it takes to remain with him."

They heard voices out in the hallway then – Alistair and Arren – and broke off their conversation, looking at the door as the two wardens entered. Arren nodded in greeting to all of them, then turned to Jowan. "Alistair's explained to me your need to do some further research into blood magic, in order to have some understanding of what you might be able to do to help Tria. I've agreed to find out if we can locate any of the books the coven we cleared out had. However," and he paused, face going grim for a moment. "Blood magic is both extremely dangerous and unlawful; I will only allow you to see any such books we locate, not any of the other mages in our party. You're not to discuss specifics of their contents with anyone except Alistair, who will also be present any time you're studying them, and who will continue to have final say on whether or not you may attempt any of the spells you learn from them. Is that understood?" He looked back and forth between Jowan and Owen, a very serious expression on his face.

Owen lifted his hands up placatingly. "I have no interest in blood magic, nor any desire to know more about it or how it functions than the little I already know. I am completely happy to have nothing at all to do with it, apart from whatever limited exposure is necessary when helping in Tria's healing."

Arren smiled slightly. "Good. Jowan, Alistair, come with me – we'll go see Kylon and find out if the books still exist, to start with."

They all rose and left the room together, Jowan and Alistair saying hurried good-byes to Owen and Zevran before following Arren away.

The assassin and the mage looked at each other as the sound of the three men going down the stairs faded away. Zevran smiled. "It sounds as if we may finally have some time to ourselves, does it not?" he asked.

Owen smiled back, and stepped closer to Zevran, enjoying the way he towered over the elf. "So it does," he agreed, voice low and rumbling, then lifted his hands to gently grasp Zevran's head, tilting it back as he leaned down to kiss him hungrily. Zevran made an approving sound, his own hands rising to knot into the fabric of Owen's shirt. Owen grinned as he ended the kiss, then wrapped his arms around the elf and straightened up, easily lifting him off his feet. Zevran gave a short, breathless laugh, and quickly wrapped his legs tightly around Owen's waist, one arm hooking around the much larger man's neck. "Shall we retire to our room?" he asked, a pleased smile on his face as he leaned back a little to smile at Owen.

"That sounds like a good idea..." Owen said, beginning to turn to face down the hallway toward their own bedroom. Then jumped in startlement as a series of loud clanging crashes resounded from somewhere downstairs, as well as a frightened screech in Tria's voice.

Zevran cursed even as he dropped from Owen's arms, the two hurrying over to the stairs and down to find out what had happened.


Owen lifted his hands away from Tria's head, and peered closely at her blood-daubed scalp; easy to do, as she was currently curled up in his lap, clinging to his clothes with her face buried against him, still shaking a little from her scare. She'd been helping Wynne in the kitchen – she was a good scullion, and seemed to enjoy helping the elderly mage in the kitchen – and when trying to take a pot down for her had had the entire shelf it was on give way, dumping its contents everywhere. She'd been lucky not to be more badly injured by the falling pots and pans; some were heavy enough that they might have killed her. One had hit her hard enough to open a gash in her scalp, before she'd managed to get her arms up over her head to protect it, and she had a large dark bruise forming on her right forearm from one of the blows she'd deflected. The scalp wound had bled heavily, as head wounds usually did.

Mara, also shaken by the accident, handed him a damp cloth, and he dabbed carefully at Tria's hair, cleaning away what he could of the remaining blood from around the fading scar that was all that remained of her injury. He glanced across the kitchen, to where Zevran was stacking the fallen pots off to one side, clearing room for them to replace the shelf. "How hard will that be to fix?" he called.

Zevran frowned up at the broken shelf. "More work that it looked at first, I think – the wood is old, and judging by the appearance of where it broke, it was infested at some time; wood worm or termites or similar. I suspect we may need to pull down and replace all of this shelving before it is safe again."

"We'll need to have Arren let Fergus know, I suppose," Wynne said from where she was busy making a large pot of tea, having decided they all could use some to help them calm down again after the excitement. "Should we take down everything?"

"Certainly anything heavy or breakable, I would think," Zevran agreed.

Their free time quickly evaporated. The rest of the morning was spent in removing everything from the shelves and stacking it on and under the worktables. Arren returned without the others shortly before noon, and after seeing the broken shelf and tapping and listening at some of the whole ones, went out again, Morrigan and Mouse accompanying him, to go let Fergus know about the problem.

Everyone else ate a lunch of bread, soft cheese, fruit and tea in the kitchen. Shortly after Arren and Morrigan returned, with Fergus and a pair of carpenters in tow. One of them set to work in removing the old shelves, with help from Zevran, Owen and Sten, while the other went around the house checking for any other signs of weakened wood-work, accompanied by Arren and Fergus. The three mages all retreated upstairs with Tria, deciding a quiet afternoon spent in reading, talking, and maintaining their clothing and gear would help the still-shaken young elf to settle.

There was, thankfully, almost no sign of damage to any of the woodwork elsewhere in the house. Whatever the infestation had been, it had been limited to the kitchen and a nearby storeroom, where there was powdery sawdust found around some old empty crates and stacked firewood, but no sign of whatever had made it. Most likely detected and exterminated while Howe's men had been there, and the extent of the boring damage not noticed or repaired, they guessed.

The carpenters did fast work, but it was still early evening by the time the old shelves had been torn down and new, sound ones erected in their place, and the workmen finally left. Alistair and Jowan returned as the carpenters were finishing their work, Jowan lost in thought, and Alistair looking tired. They joined the others in a late meal, while being brought up to date on happenings in the household while they were away. The remainder of the evening was spent in putting everything away again on the rebuilt shelves.

"I need a nice hot bath after all that lifting and carrying," Owen told Zevran once they had returned upstairs to their rooms.

"Shall I attend on you in the bathroom?" Zevran asked, eyebrows raising slightly, his expression hopeful.

Owen smiled slightly. "Of course," he said.

He did enjoy pampering the mage, Zevran found himself thinking a while later as he perched on the edge of the tub, washing Owen's back. Any excuse to touch him, really, though doing things like this, serving as his bath attendant, were somehow particularly enjoyable. Perhaps because he was doing them by choice, not as part of getting close enough to someone to kill them. When he had finished bathing Owen, the mage insisted on him climbing into the tub as well, and helped to wash his hair. It was pleasant to just sit there, eyes closed, while the mage's large fingers scrubbed back and forth across his scalp, lathering up his hair. After a while Owen stopped, and touched Zevran's chin, turning his head to exchange a single heated kiss with the elf.

Owen rose to his feet as soon as that was done, however, yawning hugely. "Finish your bath," he said. "I'm going to go get changed for bed."

Zevran nodded, and ducked his head under the water to rinse off. He quickly bathed and dried, then went out to the bedroom, anticipating a pleasant interlude before sleep. And stopped, smiling ruefully. Owen was already in bed – and already fast asleep. He sighed, pulled on his own nightclothes, and climbed in with the mage, who was asleep deeply enough that he didn't even stir.

Perhaps tomorrow they'd find some time to spend together.