Title: Truth or Dare: Chapter 8

Rating: M

Disclaimer: Dragon Age belongs to BioWare, I'm making no profit.

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Author's Notes: Yes, Ceridwen can do mercy, but she's not all that good at the whole forgiving-thing... The rage depicted here in this chapter is courtesy of the DA2-demo. Boy did that ever get me into the right mood!

I have gotten requests about describing what Ceridwen looks like – and I reread my story, and realized that I haven't lost a word about her appearance yet, other than saying that she has long, reddish hair. My bad! I hope I could rectify that a little in this chapter.

Oh, and bathtub-fun time alert! I love bathtub-fun time. As for the role-playing – I like writing erotica, and one of the problems one quickly encounters when writing a couple for a while, is that the sexytimes grow stale sooner or later, even if one can think of many ways to describe the foreplay – sex - afterglow. The role-playing thing allows for many variations of tone and theme though, and I hope this will help keeping things fresh. And yes, there will be sub!Loghain scenarios in the future too.

My thanks to Shakespira for advice, support, and hand-holding, and to mille libri for betaing!

Truth or Dare

by owlet

Wynne smiled at the antics of the children. Ceridwen had decided that they would spend two nights at the "Spoiled Princess", so that the children would have a whole day to play to their heart's content until they had to say good-bye to their friend. It was a rather warm, sunny day, and both Wynne and Ceridwen sat on a bench in front of the inn, watching them play on the meadow. Wynne had brought a book, but it lay open on her lap unread and ignored, as the children and an awkward Loghain proved much more entertaining.

It had all started as one of Keira's training-sessions with Loghain. Maric and Shirei were with Ceridwen and Wynne respectively for their daily lessons, when Loghain had stumbled backwards over something, and Keira leaped on top of him with her distinctive crow of victory; Maric and Shirei had exchanged a glance and a grin, and had raced to join their friend. The swords lay in the grass forgotten, as Loghain playfully wrestled with the three children.

Wynne glanced over at the mage beside her, who also watched the impromptu game with a slight smile on her face, her sewing on her lap, just as forgotten as Wynne's book. Ceridwen had taken a bath this morning, and with her hair loose and drying in the sun she looked painfully young in Wynne's eyes. The expression on the other woman's face was one she had seen in the mirror decades ago, before she had become as bitter and brittle as she was now. The look of a woman who was about to give away her heart.

Wynne hadn't stayed alive as long as she had by walking through the world blind. There had been something between Ceridwen and the former Regent right from the start – something that connected them in a way. If it was just fate, or shared experience, or simply the respect and understanding that long-time opponents developed – she couldn't say. And then they had started sleeping with each other for reasons Wynne could fathom even less. Certainly, Loghain Mac Tir was a handsome man (she was old, not blind), but he was also utterly ruthless, dangerous and driven. How could her young friend not see that? One did not need to be a clairvoyant to see the catastrophe looming on the horizon.

"Copper for your thoughts?"

Wynne blinked and turned to face the young woman next to her.

"I was only wool-gathering. How is your project coming along?" she asked, indicating the misshapen pile of partially sown together fur scraps.

"Almost finished; this is the last seam. Then I only need to stuff it and make the face."

Loghain had overpowered Maric and tickled him mercilessly with the two girls pulling at his shirt trying to save the boy, exuberant shrieks and laughter drifting over to the two mages.

Ceridwen laughed at the sight and shook her head.

"Who would have thought him capable of this? He looks like a boy himself. No wonder Anora adores him so," she said, her pleasant, alto voice mirthful.

Wynne just shook her head. She had gotten used to it, but many people were surprised when they heard Ceridwen speak for the first time; her rather sweet, round face with its big, innocent looking blue eyes made one expect a chirping soprano. She wasn't beautiful like Morrigan, or like Wynne herself had been in her youth, but pretty in a way that made people feel protective towards her, because she looked utterly harmless.

"Yes, perhaps," Wynne answered, and Ceridwen went back to her sewing.

Now the children had made Loghain fall on his back again and tickled him. He was laughing, but she couldn't tell if he was pretending for their benefit, or if he was really ticklish.

"I was thinking about your attachment to him, actually," Wynne admitted.

Ceridwen sighed and lowered her needle again.

"Wynne, please."

"I'm not trying to lecture, I just want to understand what drove you into his arms."

"I know this sounds strange, but I feel safe with him. Protected. During the last year everyone was leaning on me. First it was Alistair, then it was most of our company, then all of bloody Ferelden. Everybody was looking to me for guidance. But who could I lean on? He knows what that's like, and he doesn't look up to me like that. He just is," Ceridwen replied thoughtfully.

"Do you love him?"

Ceridwen shook her head decisively.

"I like him, and I respect him, and I think, I hope, that's mutual. He's fun in bed, not all that experienced, but a quick learner. Very open-minded when it comes to the things mages do," she said, sharing a knowing grin with her fellow mage. "But no, love is not part of the equation."

"If you say so," Wynne said, shaking her head with a thin smile.

"Yes, I do say so. I know that only pain and despair lie down that path. I'm not going to make that mistake. I think I'm actually quite safe with him, it's rather unlikely that he'll ever develop feelings for me," Ceridwen answered, her voice steady and matter-of-fact.

"Oh, I don't doubt that for a minute," Wynne replied, carefully keeping her voice light. The poor girl was in over her head already, even if she didn't see it. One could only hope for the best.

...

Ceridwen had retreated to their room to stuff the second toy-Mabari she'd sewn with cloth scraps, unspun wool, and sweet-smelling twigs of lavender. She was just finished sewing on buttons as eyes when Loghain entered, grass in his hair and green stains on his shirt, followed by her dog.

"Those turned out pretty well," he said, taking the one she'd finished earlier and inspecting it.

"Would you like one too?" Ceridwen teased him as she clipped the last thread.

"I think I'm a little too old for something like that," Loghain said with a smile, and quickly sat the stuffed dog back on the bed. "But imagine; to receive stuffed toys, sewn by the Hero of Ferelden herself. They are going to tell that to their grandchildren one day."

"Yes, as if rolling in the grass with the Hero of River Dane is anything different. Come here, you've got some of said grass in your hair. And not even magic will be able to get the stains out of that shirt," Ceridwen said with a mock-frown as she tugged at the offending article of clothing.

"You just want me to take it off," he teased, pulling it over his head.

Ceridwen took a step back and eyed him appreciatively.

"Perhaps," she grinned and smoothed her palms over his chest and abdomen, before linking her hands loosely behind his back. "You know, we haven't tried out this bed yet. Do you think it's sturdy enough?"

"We slept in it last night, dear."

"Yes, but we didn't do anything else. And if the innkeeper is going to fix a sign over the headboard saying, in this bed the Hero of River Dane shagged the Hero of Ferelden, the least we can do is to make sure that the good man doesn't unwittingly lie," Ceridwen chortled into his chest.

Loghain lifted her effortlessly and let her drop on the bed.

"Just you wait," he growled and pounced.

There was a knock at the door in that exact moment and Loghain lowered his forehead to Ceridwen's chest with a frustrated groan before he let her up to open the door.

"You said you wanted us to come to your room after our bath," Shirei said, Maric at her side.

"Yes, come in. I've got something for you," Ceridwen invited the children, stepping aside to let them pass.

Loghain, who had hastily thrown on another shirt, handed her the two stuffed Mabaris.

"Here, one for each of you. Give it a name, and hug it tight when you sleep tonight. Tomorrow morning you are going to switch them, so each of you has a Mabari that the other has named and held."

"I will name mine Fang," Maric declared with the kind of dignity that only an eight-year-old boy could possess.

"Fluffy!" Shirei squealed happily, hugging the fuzzy toy tightly to her. "I name him after your dog."

The real Fluffy let out an approving bark and proudly sat there, wearing his usual doggy-grin, his tongue lolling.

Maric didn't look happy at all that he'd have a stuffed dog named Fluffy of all things, but he didn't complain, burying his face in the soft fur of Fang instead.

"Now go, show Wynne," Ceridwen said with a smile, and the children bounded out in search of the mage, Fluffy trotting after them.

"Why did you make these toys anyway?" Loghain asked after she had closed the door .

Ceridwen shrugged.

"You got Keira a sword. I wanted Shirei and Maric to have something too. Both will be very lonely in the coming months, and the stuffed animals will remind them that they've got a friend. Especially Shirei. She is small and timid; I don't think she'll find friends all that easily."

"You see yourself in her."

"Yes, a bit. I was about seven or eight when I was brought to the Tower, and I remember being very scared. I was too afraid to talk to anyone, so I was always alone. And then there was this boy nobody liked because he was weird. He was older than I, but somehow he became my best friend. My only friend, in fact," Ceridwen answered and stepped close to Loghain, who pulled her into his arms.

"Go on," he murmured against her hair.

"I began to excel at my studies, and where the others had thought me inconsequential before, they were jealous then. Jowan never was a very good or powerful mage, but he always remained loyal to me. And then the First Enchanter made me betray him. I ran to Irving, and told him of Jowan's plan to escape because I trusted him. I thought he'd put things to rights."

"And he didn't," Loghain stated.

"No, he did not. This is one of the reasons I decided to accompany Wynne here. I need to know what happened to my friend. Arl Eamon sent him to the tower immediately, but I have no idea what happened then. Nobody sent word."

Loghain rested his head on top of hers.

"And I'm not entirely blameless in this matter either," he muttered morosely.

"No, you are not. But after reading those letters at Ostagar, I understand the necessity. And it wasn't as if you told him to kill Eamon. And it certainly wasn't you who told him to get involved with blood-magic, that was his doing alone. You didn't sentence him to death either. That was Eamon."

Loghain cupped her face in his hands and kissed her delicately.

"Try not to think about it. We'll deal with all of this tomorrow."

"Yes," Ceridwen said, and returned his kiss. "But you've still got grass and the Maker knows what else in your hair. Well, since the children are done, I suppose we can have the tub now. I shall go and inform the innkeeper that the Hero of River Dane is in dire need of a bath."

She ducked away with a giggle, though not quickly enough to escape his swipe at her bottom.

The innkeeper fretted at her asking for the bathtub, saying that the hot water wasn't ready, but Ceridwen just waved him off and asked him to have it filled with cold water instead. When he looked at her completely baffled, she rolled her eyes and told him she'd heat it with magic, which she did.

Back in their room, Loghain collected his bathing supplies and eased himself into the hot water filling the spacious wooden tub with a contented groan.

"Shall I assist you with your bath, Milord?" Ceridwen asked with a broad grin on her face, stripping down to her thin shift, removing her breast-band and smalls from under it.

"Do you have any idea how many pretty young things have asked me that exact question over the years?" he replied wryly, raising an eyebrow. "I always declined, of course. But I think I might make an exception in your case."

"I feel quite honoured," she laughed.

"Then get to it, wench," he growled good-naturedly.

Ceridwen laughed again and started picking the debris out of his dark mane before using a jug to wet it.

Loghain made small, appreciative noises as she massaged some soap into his hair, and Ceridwen took the opportunity to trail her fingers over the nape of his neck too; she had quickly discovered that this was one of his favourite spots.

After rinsing away the suds she picked up his sponge and soap to rub at his neck and shoulders, delighting in how the muscles slid beneath his skin as she guided the sponge along one strong arm, then the other. His chest was next, then she humbly bid him stand so she could clean the rest of his body.

"Tell me, do you have that ointment with you? The one mages use?" he asked her as she dragged the sponge over the sensitive skin of his inner thighs.

"I do indeed, Milord," Ceridwen answered cheekily, running her fingers teasingly through his coarse pubic hair. Not that she would get rid of all of it, just here and there. Balls and buttocks, she preferred them smooth and hairless on a man.

She retrieved it and bid him stand in the tub with his legs spread so she could reach the areas she wanted. The ointment was of a smooth, creamy substance and almost odourless, smelling only faintly of honey.

"Don't be alarmed, Milord, this will tingle somewhat. But it's a very nice tingle," she said, spreading it on the parts she thought appropriate, watching with fascination as he hardened.

"How long does it take to work," Loghain asked slightly breathless.

"A few moments, until the tingling stops," Ceridwen answered.

One of his hands tangled in her hair and pulled her head closer to his groin.

"I suggest you entertain me with your mouth in the meantime," Loghain ordered, and Ceridwen slowly opened her mouth for him with a faux-embarrassed flutter of her lashes.

She closed her eyes as she let the firm, warm flesh pass her lips, and flicked at him with her tongue. He had come to like this very much since she had introduced him to to the pleasure, and she was glad that he had, since she loved doing this. Even though the act of it seemed submissive, she liked the sense of power it gave her, to make her lover groan and tremble as she pleased. She also hoped that he would return the favour later, as he had become quite adept at pleasuring her with his lips and tongue. It was amazing what he was capable of when he turned his considerable mental faculties that usually planned battles and complicated strategies to the task of pleasing her, of making her sigh and tremble.

By now he knew how far she could take him, so she had both hands free to travel up the back of his thighs, and squeeze his buttocks. They were firm, like the rest of him, and Ceridwen had noticed that more than one woman's eyes wandered into that direction as they came through towns and villages. And it was all hers, she thought with a mental grin, since her mouth was busy travelling over the delicate skin of his erection.

He came soon after, spilling salty seed into her mouth.

"Has it stopped tingling yet?" she asked.

"Yes, so what's next?"

"You rinse. That's it," Ceridwen replied, letting her hand slide along his body as he settled back into the water.

"Interesting", he said, "It feels quite different. The Circle could probably make a fortune if the mages decided to sell that stuff."

Ceridwen laughed.

"And the demand would be so great that the Tranquil and Mages never had any time to do other things than to stir big vats of Fuzz-Be-Gone. Oh no. And we like having that to ourselves anyway. The rest of the world doesn't think we're worth their time, much less their regard. Why would we share something that pleasurable with them? Nah, let them be all scruffy and miserable."

Loghain laughed at her words and pulled her down for a kiss, caressing her breasts through her shift.

"Now how about we get back to our game? The water is getting tepid, and your task is not finished yet, wench," he said with a grin and a pinch to her nipple.

"As you wish, Milord," Ceridwen replied with a wink, and grabbed a towel.

He rose and stepped out of the tub, wet skin glistening in the golden light of the sunset that filtered through the crown glass window, dripping water everywhere. Ceridwen quickly started drying him, rubbing the towel over his muscular torso and long limbs, unable to resist trailing open-mouthed kisses in the wake of her ministrations, her lips following the contours of sinews and muscles, running over scars old and new.

"Hm... thank you, that was quite thorough," Loghain complimented her when she was finished.

She smiled and bade him to lie on the bed on his stomach, and with a quizzically raised eyebrow he did.

Ceridwen returned the jar with the Fuzz-Be-Gone to her pack, and took out a flask containing scented oil. She sometimes used it on her own skin, but it would fit him too, as she wasn't too fond of sweet smells, and preferred a more tart blend of lavender, citrus, and a musky, earthy scent imported from the far north that she had forgotten the name of, then followed her lover to the bed. Trailing her fingertips down the middle of his back she straddled his hips, and poured some of the oil on her hand to warm it between both palms before spreading it on his back.

"Hm... oh yes," Loghain sighed as she started kneading at the muscles of his back. She found several knots and gently rubbed them out, earning appreciative grunts and groans for her efforts. She smiled thinly, remembering Zevran's offer to teach her Antivan massage techniques. She doubted very much that he knew anything more effective than what she had learned during her time in the Circle. Or anything more erotic, she thought, letting her fingers warm and vibrate subtly, sending minute shocks through Loghain's skin that helped his muscles relax.

When she had worked her way over his back, she turned around and moved on to the lower part of his body, starting with the soles of his feet, then on to his calves and thighs, letting her humming fingers slip down the cleft between his legs time again to tease the sensitive area behind his scrotum until he started to shift restlessly beneath her.

When Ceridwen asked him to turn around, she wasn't surprised to see that he was hard again, but she ignored that, and straddled him, letting his stiff shaft nestle between her buttocks, but nothing more as she started on his arms.

"They do teach you well at the Circle," Loghain quipped as she moved on to his chest. "I might just keep you around."

"We always aim to please," she joked in return. His skin had absorbed the oil and altered its scent into something different yet utterly delicious, and Ceridwen slowly bent down to nibble at his neck, and his arms came up around her, his strong hands rubbing her back through her shift before urging her to discard it.

It fell to the floor unheeded as they began to kiss fervently, and Ceridwen felt one of his hands stray between her legs to caress her.

"You are wet, my dear, all silky and slippery," Loghain murmured into her ear and rolled them over so he was on top of her. She spread her legs wide, and he hooked his arms under them, lifting them over his shoulders before entering her.

He moved slowly, languidly, and Ceridwen closed her eyes in bliss as she reached between her legs to help herself along.

Afterwards they lay entwined and she listened to his steady heartbeat until they got up for dinner. A Warden's appetite for food was quite difficult to ignore, after all.

...

Ceridwen entered the Circle Tower with mixed feelings in the next morning. It still was the only home she'd ever known, but her memories of it weren't entirely fond ones.

The Templars guarding the door nodded at her respectfully as she passed them and she nodded back at them warily. She had probably saved their asses back when the tower was overrun with blood-mages and abominations, but she couldn't help but wonder how long it would take them to forget that.

She barely met anyone as she and her companions made their way to Irving's office; after that terrible incident, there weren't many mages left to walk the halls and to study in the great library of the Circle. The repairs were still in progress, but she could see that the worst damage had been fixed; there were still a few holes in the walls, but the bookshelves were back where they belonged, books filling them again in an orderly manner.

The First Enchanter's study was exactly as she remembered it, the clutter, the haphazard assortment of furniture, the lit fireplace with the copper kettle, blackened by years of use. How often had she sat in one of the armchairs near the fire and watched Irving make tea for them? How often had she come to him with worries, great and small? Marinna hadn't been exactly her friend, but she had liked her, even if they had barely spoken. Everybody had liked Marinna, she had been one of those people so friendly and soft-spoken that it was impossible to dislike them. When she had committed suicide over the loss of her baby to the Chantry, Ceridwen had been horrified. She had fled here and Irving had comforted her, held her as she, fifteen at the time, had bawled her eyes out.

Irving greeted her warmly, but she found that she couldn't return his smile. She had been his favourite, and he had been a surrogate father for her – yet he still hadn't hesitated to sacrifice her in a scheme to get back at the Knight-Commander. And when everything had gone from bad to worse, when Jowan had revealed himself as a blood-mage and Greagoir had been out for her blood, he hadn't tried all that hard to save her, had dropped her into Duncan's lap instead as soon as the Warden-Commander had proclaimed an interest in her.

No, she was quite through with Irving.

"First Enchanter, I've brought you a new apprentice. This is Shirei of Denerim."

Irving peered at the elven girl and gave her a friendly nod.

"Welcome to your new home, Shirei. Wynne, I take it you'll be staying this time?"

"Yes, I feel ready to return to my duties here, if I may. I have missed the young ones, and I would like Shirei to be my apprentice. She shows great promise as a healer," the mage answered, laying a gentle hand on the girl's shoulder.

Irving rubbed his hands.

"So that's settled then. And the other two?"

"They are her friends who accompanied her here. They will be returning with me," Ceridwen interjected, surprised at the edge in her voice.

"Well, come, children. I'll show you where the kitchen is. If I remember correctly, the cook always has some cookies ready for hungry children," Wynne said and led the children out, leaving Ceridwen and Loghain alone with the First Enchanter.

Irving sighed and gave Ceridwen a long, thoughtful look. He looked older than she remembered him, a stiffness in his movements and a fatigue in his eyes that hadn't been there before the attack on the Circle.

"I'd like to speak to you alone, if you don't mind," he finally said, sounding tired, glancing at Loghain who stood at her side, dark, silent, and forbidding.

Ceridwen was unmoved.

"There is nothing we can discuss that Warden Loghain can't hear. I would rather he remained."

Resignedly the old mage waved them into armchairs before sitting down himself.

"You used to trust me once, Ceridwen."

"Yes, and look where that has gotten me," she scoffed.

"It was the only way to enable you to leave the tower permanently. You are such a free spirit, you would have perished in here."

For a moment Ceridwen was unable to speak past that huge knot of anger in her chest.

"Are you trying to tell me that you did this for my own good? You deprived me of my best friend, of my home, my future in the Circle, made me go and fight Darkspawn, and the bloody Archdemon for my own good?" Ceridwen shouted, her voice rising with every sentence.

"I only tried to teach you caution."

Ceridwen jumped up so forcefully that her armchair toppled over.

"You taught me that I can trust no-one. That those closest to me are all the more likely to betray me. You taught me that I can't even trust you, the man I have loved like a father. Tell me, what have you done with Jowan after Arl Eamon sent him here?" she hissed, closing in on her former mentor, who shrank back into his armchair, a look of trepidation and regret on his lined face that she had never seen before.

Irving avoided her eyes as he answered quietly.

"He was executed as soon as he stepped into the Tower. We couldn't risk him escaping again. I'm sorry."

Ceridwen straightened, magical energy cackling around her.

"I bet you are, First Enchanter. So sorry that you couldn't even be bothered to inform me. Listen to me very carefully. Should I ever hear that Shirei got hurt in one of your power-games, I'll be here faster than you can blink to conscript you. And then I shall watch with a smile on my face when you die during the Joining," she said very quietly, then turned to her companion. "Loghain, we are done here."

She left the office in a rush, Loghain at her heels. A Templar stepped into her path, but she just snarled at him. "If you even think about holy-smiting me, I'll smite you. Out of my way."

"No... my lady, please, I was just tasked with giving you a message. The Knight-Commander wishes to see you," the Templar said in a rush, clearly afraid of her. His voice sounded very young, even distorted as it was through the helmet, and when he removed what all apprentices referred to as the Bucket, she saw that this impression had been right. He was all milky skin and scared, liquid eyes.

Ceridwen deflated a little.

"I'm sorry. Please lead the way," she said, even though she knew the way perfectly well. She felt like she had offended this puppy of a Templar enough.

"Is it safe to talk to you?" murmured Loghain from next to her, a half scared, half amused look on his face.

Ceridwen snorted inelegantly.

"Of course. Tell me, have you ever met Greagoir?"

"No, I can't say I have."

"He's a bastard. But at least he's an honest bastard," Ceridwen said, grinning as the puppy-Templar leading them made a strangled noise in his throat.

...

Loghain noticed that the Knight-Commander's office was a lot less cluttered than Irving's had been. The man himself was standing near the window, his countenance thoughtful, and he didn't greet Ceridwen with a smile either, his ageing face passive and unreadable. All good Commanders knew how to wear that look, and Loghain, an expert on it himself, knew that it could hide quite a number of things.

"Warden. I trust you are well," the Templar said curtly, nodding minutely at Ceridwen. "You are Warden Loghain, I presume."

"That is correct, Knight-Commander," Loghain answered, and the Templar seemed contented to leave their interaction at that, and turned back to Ceridwen who returned his nod.

"Yes, thank you, Knight Commander. You wished to see me?"

Greagoir nodded.

"Yes, there is a problem you could help me solve. You remember the mage Anders, I presume."

Loghain almost snorted derisively. No wonder he was being so civil, he wanted her to do something for him.

"I recall him, yes."

Greagoir sighed.

"He's a likeable lad, but I'm afraid I can't be lenient with him any longer. He was brought back yesterday from his latest escape-attempt, and most of the Templars are demanding that he was made Tranquil."

Loghain saw Ceridwen flinch, her face going white.

"Tranquil? Anders? But he's harmless, he'd never do something as stupid as taking up blood-magic or consorting with demons!"

The grizzled Templar raised his hands in a soothing gesture.

"I know. I know the boy. But I fear that I have no choice but to do as the others ask or send him to Aeonar."

Ceridwen crossed her arms in front of her chest defensively.

"Oh? Why are you so worried? I don't remember you being so concerned about my welfare after that debacle with Jowan."

The Knight-Commander went over to his desk and sat down in his chair, his economic, precise movements a telling sign of his abilities as a fighter.

"I know. Recent events, however, have opened my eyes a little. It is our duty as Templars to punish mages who commit crimes, but we must also protect them; from outside threats, and even more from themselves. If our hold on them is too restrictive they get desperate and rebel, and that only leads to unspeakable tragedy. I'm not entirely unsympathetic to their situation, Warden."

"I see. Now what about Anders?" Ceridwen asked, her voice betraying her mistrust.

"I can't let him stay, and I can't let him go either. But maybe you might have a use for him? Let him become a Grey Warden. That way he can live outside the Tower, and perhaps do some good. I'm sure you remember that he's an exceptional healer."

Ceridwen let out a short, sarcastic bark of a laugh.

"And he'll be out of your hair, and someone else's problem, you mean."

The Knight-Commander didn't flinch at her accusation, and held her gaze steadily.

"Yes, that is true. So, will you consider this?"

Ceridwen nodded.

"Certainly. Where can I find him?"

"He's in solitary confinement at the moment. Roderic will escort you there. The Templar who brought the message."

"Very well. There is another matter that I'd like to discuss with you, Knight-Commander."

"Yes," the Templar prompted her with another curt nod.

"I'd like to see my records. I want to know who my family is. Where I come from."

Loghain raised his brows in surprise. She had never told him about her desire to reconnect with her kin. It occurred to him that though she spoke freely of her past, she never really shared her current thoughts and feelings with him. He shrugged it off; he wasn't exactly one to inspire confidence, after all.

"I can't very well deny you that wish, but are you sure that's wise? The chance they will welcome you is very small indeed," he said haltingly, his brow furrowing in displeasure.

"Maybe they will, maybe they won't; I'm under no illusion as to how people regard mages. There is only one way to know, though, is there?" Ceridwen snapped impatiently, and the Knight-Commander nodded with a sigh.

"If you're sure. I'll have a copy of the report ready for you when you leave," he said, standing and moving over to the shelves to look for the right ledger.

"Thank you, Knight-Commander," Ceridwen said neutrally and turned to leave.

Loghain followed her out and fell in step next to her as the young Templar she had frightened so led them to the prison where the mage was held. A healer? That was fortuitous, since Wynne had left them. Not that he was sad to see the old crone go, but her healing abilities had been very convenient.

Loghain looked around as they made their way through the tower and shuddered. The only time he had ever set foot in here was years back when Maric had gotten himself into trouble by following Grey Wardens about. He had been too preoccupied with thwarting an Orlesian plot and saving his friend at the time to really look, but as he gazed around now, he couldn't help but shudder. This really was a prison. Uldred had been absolutely right when he had approached Loghain, the Templars were everywhere, and the mages flitted by them like scared mice, trying not to be noticed. There were no doors to the mages' quarters, they weren't allowed any privacy. Nobody should be forced to live like that, children least of all. He hoped Ceridwen knew what she was doing, leaving little Shirei here.

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Thanks for reading, please tell me what you think :o)

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Shakespira, Josie Lange, Judy, Gene Dark, mutive (the cute – it went into new dimensions this chapter, I think :D), Eva Galana, Arsinoe de Blassenville, Ladydeath90, tgail73 – thank you so much for reading, and even more for reviewing.