Blood and Betrayal

Guen felt sick. She felt her head nodding, felt her feet carry her back to the chapel where Jowan and Lily were anxiously waiting. "All right, I'll help." Her voice came out of her mouth, sounding sincere, determined. Like someone who would defy Chantry law to help her best friend find freedom. "What's the plan?"

Jowan's relieved, boyish smile shone from behind the stubble of a beard on his face. "The depository has several doors that need a special key," he explained, "a key that only Greagoir and Irving have. But if we had a way to get past the locks, we wouldn't need the key. A rod of fire might do."

"Mages are the only ones who have the proper authority to request items from the stockroom," Guen mused, thinking aloud.

"And you're a mage now," Jowan pointed out delightedly. "We can't go with you—it would look suspicious. We'll wait here."

"Oh, don't trouble yourselves," Guen shot back with heavy sarcasm as she hurried out.

She found the stockroom on the third floor, Tranquil Owain standing nearby. "Owain!" she called. "What do I need to take something from stockroom?"

"A release form, signed by a senior enchanter," Owain replied in a flat, dreamy tone. "What do you need?"

"A rod of fire," Guen answered conversationally as she took a release form from a stack on the stockroom table. "Thank you. May I ask you something else?"

"Anything. I will answer as best as I can."

"Is it terrible, being Tranquil? Going through the Rite of Tranquility?"

A flicker of thought passed across Owain's placid face. "I was afraid of failing my Harrowing," he answered in the same calm tone. "They cut my magic from me. Now, I am no longer afraid. I can keep the stockroom in better order. I like being Tranquil."

He didn't ask why she wanted to know; Guen supposed Tranquils didn't ask too many questions. She murmured her thanks and took her release form. She had a favor to collect.

Leorah was still in the storeroom, putting things in order after the spider infestation. "Guenhibhar!" she cried happily. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"I was hoping to cash in that favor, actually," Guen answered honestly. "Would you sign this?"

Leorah briefly perused the form. "A rod of fire, hm? Beginning research already?"

Guen's social smile suddenly felt too tight on her face. "Yes," she lied. "I can't wait to get started."

Leorah signed the form with no further questions and returned it to Guen's hand. Owain glanced at the signed form when she turned it in, and handed her the requested rod of fire, also with no further questions. Guen tucked it into the belt on her robe and hurried back to the chapel. "I have it," she said before Jowan could ask. "Let's not waste time, shall we?"

The first entrance into the basement was no trouble; all it needed was a Chantry password and the touch of mana. Blue torchlight flickered along the walls of the hallway leading to a second door. Statues and suits of armor were placed at regular intervals; Guen supposed they were there to look imposing.

They stood at the second door, the entrance to the phylactery chamber. "Use the rod, Guen" Jowan urged. "We're so close!" He placed his palm on the door, displacing the sleeve of his robe.

Ugly-looking cuts and scratches crisscrossed his hand and arm. "Jowan, how did those happen?" Guen asked with real concern, sick feeling of guilt forgotten for a moment.

Jowan dropped his arm and pulled the sleeve of his robe back down. "It-it's nothing," he stammered. "J-Just clumsy, I guess."

Guen frowned, unconvinced, and worried. "Well, would you move so I don't melt you too?" she said brusquely. She pointed the rod at the door and spoke the command word.

A robust jet of flame burst from the end of the rod. The searing, white-hot heat singed Guen's hand. It didn't seem to be having much of an effect on the door, however; she deactivated the rod and stared in bewilderment at the unscathed barrier.

"It—it didn't work!" Jowan shouted, close to panic.

"Really, I hadn't noticed," Guen snapped. "We'll have to find another way in. There's a door down this hallway. Perhaps we—"

Guen was cut off by the sight of at least three of the statues in the corridor springing into action. Reflexively, Guen cast her freezing spell—rapidly becoming her favorite. Lightning and fire quickly followed. Everything blurred together; soon Guen couldn't make the distinction between instinct and training. It seemed as though one moment, they were fighting for their lives, and the next, the three statues lay inert once more—singed, frozen, and in several pieces.

"Why didn't the rod work?" Jowan fretted. "And what were those things that attacked us?"

"Probably guardians of some sort," Lily surmised as they traveled down the corridor to try the door Guen had pointed out. It was locked, but the rod of fire was able to destroy it with no difficulty. "The Chantry doesn't trust mages. It makes sense that they would make certain the mages couldn't use magic to get to their own phylacteries."

Guen wordlessly led the way through the depository. When Jowan asked why she was so quiet, she claimed it was so she could concentrate on staying alert, in case more of the statuary attacked them. It was as good an excuse as any, she supposed. In truth, she was deeply troubled, and not only because she was betraying her oldest friend to both the Circle of Magi and the Templars. She didn't believe for a second that Jowan had gotten those cuts and scratches by accident, but neither was she willing to believe he'd do something as dangerous, and deliberate, as dabble in blood magic. But still—what if she was wrong? He'd managed to keep Lily a secret from her; what other secrets might he be hiding?

They entered a large room full of clutter. Forgotten texts, broken furniture, discarded staves—all lay willy-nilly on the floor, or on rickety bookshelves, in no particular pattern.

"Where do they find all this?"Jowan wondered aloud, urgency temporarily forgotten.

"The mages have been in the Tower for a long time," Lily replied. "This has all probably accumulated over several generations."

Guen lightly ran her hand over the feminine features of a statue, forgotten in a corner for who knows how long. It made her inexplicably sad to think of so much knowledge collecting dust in what amounted to a glorified junk room. Maybe she'd catalogue it, as a project, when this was over.

"That statue looks like Tevinter work," Lily remarked with interest, joining Guen in the corner. "There's no inscription telling us who this woman is."

"Who comes?" sighed a feminine, ephemeral voice.

Guen dropped her hand in surprise and it drifted uncertainly toward her staff. "What are you?" she asked. The statue didn't seem to be moving, but one could never be certain.

"I am the Prohpetess Eleni Zinovia," it replied. "I was turned to stone for foretelling the fall of my consort's house."

"That's terrible," Guen murmured.

"It's talking rubbish," Jowan insisted impatiently. "Don't listen to it. No good ever came of talking to statues."

Guen ignored him. "Would you—do you need anything?" she asked, feeling absurd for doing so.

She could have sworn the statue of Eleni Zinovia smiled. "No, child. Do not be sad for me. I knew my fate when I dared tell Archon Valerius his house would fall. I shall endure thus, eternal and unfeeling, 'til the Maker returns to light their fires again."

Guen reluctantly turned away from Eleni's stone visage. There was something oddly comforting in the stoic dignity with which she had accepted her condition.

"Guen, over here," Jowan called. "I can feel a draft over here, behind this bookcase. Do you think we could move it?"

Together they managed to shift the case, revealing a severely weakened section of wall. "I think I can use the rod of fire on this," Guen ventured.

The wall crumbled almost instantly under the heat of the rod. Beyond was the phylactery chamber.

Hundreds of glass vials lined the walls. In contrast to the previous chamber, this room had been meticulously organized. Each vial had a handwritten label with the name of the apprentice or mage it belonged to. Guen noted several familiar names.

"They're catalogued by the year they were collected," Lily said informatively. "So Jowan's would be somewhere…here!"

She pulled a vial from its place, indistinguishable from any other in the room except for the name scrawled on the label: Jowan Rigser.

Guen felt her heart sink into her toes. Irving had instructed her to let Jowan destroy his phylactery. In a daze she watched him raise his arm, and dash the vial against the stone floor. Jowan didn't seem to know what to do next. "I'm free," he whispered, sounding stunned. "After all that, I'm free."

Guen tried to smile convincingly. The cuts and scratches on Jowan's arm were showing again. "Congratulations," she managed to say past the thick, clogged feeling in her throat. "Lily, would you give us a minute? I'd like to say goodbye before you two get too far in your happy ending." The words came so easily, sounded so sincere. She hated herself. She pulled Jowan into a tight embrace. "Don't do anything stupid, okay?" she choked out.

"I won't," he promised, returning her embrace and missing her meaning entirely."I'll never forget you, Guen. Thank you."

She followed the lovers out of the phylactery chamber and into the fresh air above, wondering if it was normal to feel as though she was walking to the gallows.

"I can scarcely credit it, Irving, but you were right." Knight-Commander Greagoir was waiting for them, with First Enchanter Irving, a half-dozen Templars, and, strangely, Duncan, the Grey Warden.

Jowan and Lily froze in shock. Guen stepped slowly out from behind them. She was uncertain where to stand. Did she stand beside them? Or did she cross the chamber to stand beside the Templars and the First Enchanter? The craven voice inside her head urged her to run back to the depository and hide until the unpleasantness was over.

"And this one!" Greagoir ranted. "Only just made a mage, and already she disregards the rules that hold everything together!"

"She was acting on my orders, Greagoir," Irving interjected with quiet authority. "I take full responsibility for her actions."

"What?" Jowan whirled to stare at Guen. "You—you planned this? You turned me in? I thought you were my friend!"

Fury and hurt smoldered in his gaze; Guen tried not to blink. She had no answer or excuse for him, in any case. Not anymore.

"Templars," Greagoir barked. "This initiate has scorned the Chantry and her vows. Take her to Aeonar, the mage's prison. As for this apostate," he continued, turning a fierce glower on Jowan, "he will be punished as all apostates are punished: with death. Take them."

With a final accusatory glare at Guen, Jowan stepped protectively in front of Lily, slowly backing up as the Templars advanced.

Don't do anything stupid, Guen mentally pleaded.

"No! I won't let you take her!" Jowan shouted. Faster than anyone could have anticipated, he pulled a dagger from his sleeve and sliced into the palm of his hand.

At least the cuts and scratches could be explained now, Guen thought, before a wave of energy crashed against her and the Templars, knocking most of them unconscious. Guen tried to get her staff out in time, but was knocked down by a second wave. Her head cracked painfully against the stone floor. In a daze she saw Jowan hold his bloodied hand out to a horrified Lily—heard Lily shouting at him to leave, leave monster—saw Jowan, broken, turn and flee. Part of her was glad to see him escape the harsh punishment reserved for apostates—and blood mages. But mostly, she was angry, and her head hurt.

"Easy," a familiar voice said from somewhere above her. Strong hands gently lifted her into a sitting position. Guen blinked and peered shortsightedly into Duncan's face. "Are you all right?" he asked.

"I'm not seriously hurt," she answered, mostly truthfully. Besides a cracked head and bruised ego, she supposed she was fine. "What of the others?"

"Blood magic is a powerful thing. Greagoir and Irving recovered quickly, but the others will take some time. No injuries besides yours."

"It's just a bump," Guen retorted impatiently. "I've gotten worse falling down the stairs."

A smile twitched at the corners of Duncan's lips. "If you insist, then."

Guen crawled to Irving's side and assisted him to his feet. "I am sorry, First Enchanter," she whispered bitterly. "I was wrong about Jowan."

"Hush, child," Irving answered dismissively. "He will be found."

Greagoir had already risen and captured an unresisting Lily. She would go to Aeonar, to serve penance for daring to love a blood mage.

"And what of this one?" Greagoir snapped. "You can't deny she played a part in all this."

"She played the part I asked her to play," Irving answered firmly. "She helped to unmask a blood mage, and you have Lily in custody."

"She was down in the phylactery chamber," Greagoir pointed out, glowering. "Who's to say she didn't…help herself?"

Guen felt anger surge through her, hot and instant. "The only phylactery missing is Jowan's," she insisted with cold finality. "Check if you like. I know how Templars love to look for enemies in shadows."

A warning glance from Irving curbed Guen's impulsive tongue before she went any further. Anger would not serve anyone well.

"Greagoir," Duncan interrupted, "would you consider allowing young Guenhibhar to leave the Tower? She is one of the most promising talents I've yet seen. The Grey Wardens would be honored to count her among their ranks."

Greagoir scowled, an instant refusal coming to his lips.

"Come, Greagoir, you have her phylactery," Irving persuaded. "Should she prove unsuitable for the Grey Wardens, where could she hide?"

Duncan added his assurances that he would take responsibility for her outside the Tower.

Guen looked to Greagoir, hardly daring to hope. Leave the Tower, leave everything behind—it seemed too good a chance to dream for.

Greagoir exhaled loudly. "Mages outside of the Tower, Maker help us. All right, take her and go. I'll send her with you as part of the force bound for Ostagar."

Duncan nodded his thanks and smiled encouragingly at Guen. "We'll leave as soon as you're ready," he told her.

On shaking legs Guen half-ran, half-walked back to her old room in the apprentice dormitory. She didn't have much; just some extra clothes, her staff, and her books. All of these fit into a good sided pack. She met Duncan in the entrance chamber. Other mages milled about, bustling to prepare for the journey. "We don't really have to wait for them, do we?" she asked. "I mean, I know you're anxious to get underway. And I'm always glad for the company of other mages. But I would like to know more the Grey wardens."

Duncan chuckled. "And so you shall," he assured her. "The roads are yet clear. I think we may travel a little ahead of the group in safety."

"You'll find we can travel quite fast when needed," remarked n older mage. Wynne, Guen remembered. She taught among the younger apprentices, and had been for as long as anyone could remember. "Here, Guen, a tent for you. Growing girls need their privacy."

Guen accepted the role of canvas gratefully. She'd always liked Wynne. "Thank you. We'll see each other in Ostagar, I'm sure."

Wynne chuckled. "Off you go, young lady. Good luck." She squeezed Guen's shoulder in farewell.

Guen blinked rapidly until the urge to cry like a child had dissipated. "Goodbye," she whispered to the room full of people. Her people. "Well, ser Duncan—"

"Just Duncan will do, Guenhibhar," he corrected.

"All right, Just Duncan, and you can call me Guen. All my friends do. Let's get started!" She strode through the front doors and onto the dock jutting out into Lake Calenhad.

A small boat was waiting for them. The Templar ferryman regarded them with mingled suspicion and interest. Guen supposed she'd be getting a lot of those types of looks outside the Tower. They didn't matter, she told herself fiercely. Let the wide world judge her. She knew herself.

They set up camp that night. Guen set up her tend a little apart from Duncan's to ensure she'd be allowed some measure of privacy. Only when all was quiet did she allow herself to mourn all she had lost.

The world would judge her as it wished. She knew what she was, she told herself again.

Mage. Maker willing, Grey Warden.

Betrayer.