A/N: Here it is! We finish Redcliffe castle with this chapter, and we go back to the original story line in the next chapter.
Also, since Landon has his big reveal, I'm posting his background one-shot, titled "Secrets of a Sinister Nature" that you should definitely check out, because it's been my favorite piece to write so far!
As always, I'd always love a review with your comments/criticism/suggestions!
"I'm a blood mage."
"Okay." Fiah shrugged.
"So is Jowan."
"Okay." Another shrug.
Landon's brow creased. "And you know what that means, right?" Rolling up the sleeve of his robe, he held out his arm to display a row of neat, pale scars lining his forearm. "Blood mage," he repeated. "Maleficar. If the Chantry ever found out…"
A third shrug.
"Maker! Do you even—" Groaning in frustration, Landon tugged his sleeve back into place and took a deep breath. When he spoke again, his voice was quiet. "Jowan used blood magic to escape the Circle. He killed templars, Fiah, killed them, with blood magic. I helped him escape. We destroyed his phylactery. The phylacteries are well-guarded, and the only way to reach them was by using blood magic. Otherwise, we wouldn't have been powerful enough to get into the phylactery room."
Fiah began to shrug again, but quickly stifled the movement. "I don't care," she admitted truthfully. "Magic is magic, as far as I'm concerned. It all scares the shit out of me, to be honest. I mean, who else has the power to set someone on fire whenever they feel like it?" She remembered the templars taking away a young elf, once, but it had been a long time ago. The elf was an orphan who accidently set fire to the orphanage when she was throwing a temper tantrum.
"And you don't care that it's an illegal form of magic that could get us both in a lot of trouble?"
"No," she scoffed, leaning against the dusty stone wall. She peered around the corner curiously, and saw that the Wardens were deep in conversation with the other mage. "You know him, then? Jowan?"
Landon hesitated. "Yes. He came to the Circle just a few weeks before me. We were six years old," he laughed softly to himself. "We always got into some sort of trouble, but nothing bad enough that the templars ever did anything worse than tell Irving about it. And then, two years later, little Kya came along."
"Kya?"
His blue gaze turned to the grimy floor. "Kya. She was an elf," he remarked, looking back up at Fiah. "Kya Surana. She was a tiny thing, always wearing robes that were too big for her. The First Enchanter really took a liking to her. Everyone did, actually." He paused for a moment, and Fiah could sense a tinge of something—Regret? Longing? Both? "She was a year younger than Jowan and me, and when she first came to the Circle, she had this miserable habit of getting lost. More than once, she'd peek her head into the dormitory, long after dinner, and she'd give us this sad look, and we'd know she'd missed the meal. We started sneaking into the pantry to get food for her at night, and one day, a templar caught us."
Fiah waited patiently for him to continue, noticing the way he suddenly tensed and frowned.
"He yelled at us. We were eight years old—Well, Jowan was nine, I think—and we were so scared." Landon paused again, and Fiah fought the sudden urge to take him in her arms and comfort him. "We knew the stories about what happened to apprentices caught after curfew—especially apprentices caught somewhere off-limits after curfew. We were so scared, and then… it happened." His words were rushed now. "We killed him with blood magic. We told Kya, and Jowan wanted to practice with it, and we did, but then there were rumors, and I stopped, but Jowan never did, and then—" He stopped abruptly, taking a shaky breath. "And then he was gone. Then Uldred rose up, and… Kya was gone, too."
Overwhelmed by the silent pain in his eyes—a pain that Fiah knew all too well—she reached out and took one of his hands in hers. He didn't respond to her touch, merely closing his eyes. With a little start, Fiah realized something rather uncharacteristic – she felt a genuine need to do her best to comfort Landon. She pulled her hand from his and slid her arms around him, holding him close. "I'm sorry," she whispered, relaxing as his arms wrapped around her. "I know what it's like. Losing someone, I mean." Briefly, she considered spilling into a tearful account of her father's death, but Fiah wasn't quite comfortable enough with Landon for that, so for now, it remained her secret.
Her father's voice came unbidden at her thoughts of him. Please, Fiahrel, he begged, promise me you'll do this. Just remember, my dear Fiah, I'll always love you. Her chest heaved with the sudden effort of breathing, and she buried her face in Landon's robes. They remained like that for a moment, and then—
Maker, did he just kiss me? Fiah did her best not to reveal her surprise and Landon's lips lingered in her hair. Curiously, she tilted her face up to look at him, noting the serenity and contentment in his deep blue eyes. Slowly, almost hesitantly, he pulled away, but not before lightly kissing her forehead.
He whispered a soft "Thank you" before turning to join the Wardens. Fiah watched him leave, feeling utterly confounded. As hard as she was trying, she couldn't sort out the emotion clouding her mind; it wasn't quite like happiness, and was much more than contentment. It was just good. She felt good.
Just an all-around, warm, good feeling.
The rogue likes feeling good. A lot. The rogue… Dammit! The rogue can't form coherent thoughts.
Fiah blinked quickly a few times and shook her head roughly, trying to force herself to think straight. Blood mage. Bad. Jowan. Rescue the arl. Right – Let's go. She took a deep, steadying breath and joined the trio huddled around the cell. "So, what are we going to do with him?" Fiah asked cheerily.
"He's staying here." Tanya's voice was decisive. "He's the arl's prisoner, not ours." With that, she turned and began walking down the hall to the other exit. "Come on. We've got work to do."
"I will do it. I will sacrifice my life."
Fiah rolled her eyes. She hadn't ever been the self-sacrificing type, and people who were tended to grate on her nerves. Isolde was certainly no exception. While Fiah understood that Connor was innocent, his mother didn't need to die. After all, their little group hadn't battled an entire castle full of reanimated skeletons just to see this woman die.
Thankfully, Alistair seemed to have a similar train of thought."Lady Isolde, I can't let you do that."
"You can't kill my son!" the woman screeched, tears beginning to roll down her face as she collapsed to her knees.
"Is there any other way?" Alistair turned back to Landon.
The mage shrugged. "With enough lyrium and willing mages, I suppose. But blood magic is undoubtedly the quickest way, short of killing the child. Which," he added hastily, "I'm not in favor of."
"So, Connor willingly harbors a demon, which he summoned to save his father, who was poisoned by the blood mage we'd be getting help from," Fiah frowned. She didn't like Landon's logic, but she was willing to trust that Jowan would stay true to his word and help fix the mess he'd created. "If I hadn't seen the state of the Circle for myself, I'd say let's get some lyrium and mages, but I doubt enough mages even survived the attacks." Crossing her arms, Fiah grudgingly admitted to herself that the blood magic ritual was the best option—even if it meant sacrificing Isolde.
The rogue doesn't even like her. She's annoying. And manipulative. And completely willing to die. So, everybody wins this way, really.
"Not to mention how long it would take to travel there and back," Landon agreed. "How about this: I'll go get Wynne and Jowan, and the rest of you can decide what to do." Before Alistair could argue, he left the room.
Sighing, Fiah sunk to the floor and leaned her head against the wall. "My vote is for blood magic," she yawned. "But, whatever. Just don't send me back to the Circle." With that, she crossed her arms and settled into the wall as best as she could, hoping for a power nap of sorts.
Fiah felt like she was just drifting off when someone shook her shoulder. "Wake up, Fiah," a warm voice called.
"Landon?" she mumbled, peeling her heavy eyes open.
"Jowan's going to start the ritual," Landon explained. "Tanya decided we don't have enough time to wait for Circle mages." He helped Fiah to her feet and she stumbled forwards groggily, still fuzzy from her nap.
It took her a moment to realize that she was leaning into Landon, and she straightened herself and pretended to be preoccupied with a slight tear in one of her gloves. "Where's Tanya?" she asked, certain the Warden wasn't taking her decision well.
Landon pointed her down a hall to her right. "Teagan took her to the arl's study. She said she needed a place to sit and that she didn't want to be here for…" His eyes flicked to where Isolde stood, her entire frame shaking.
"Well, I'm going to join her, then." Without an explanation, Fiah headed down the hall to the study. While she wouldn't have blinked over sacrificing Isolde, she figured Tanya would be a mess. Carefully, Fiah pushed open the door, not wanting to startle the Warden.
Tanya was bent over the arl's desk, holding something in her hands. Her head snapped up at Fiah's footsteps, but she looked relieved once she recognized who it was. "Fiah, come look at this." She held out her hands, and Fiah saw that she held an old pendant, painstakingly pieced back together from dozens of tiny fragments.
"It's nice," Fiah shrugged, "but I thought we agreed to leave the petty thievery to me?" She offered a wry grin, but Tanya just shook her head.
"I think… I think it's Alistair's. He told me about something like this, once. It's from his mother." Her voice was quiet and thoughtful, but sad.
No, Fiah amended, not just sad. Something far more… sullen. Mournful, almost. "What are you going to do with it?"
"Can I… take it?" she asked hesitantly. "I'd give it back to Alistair, of course."
Crossing her arms, Fiah scrutinized the young woman who stood before her. There was a definite aura of uncertainty about her, but also of conviction. "No," she decided, plucking the amulet from Tanya's outstretched hands. "I'll take it. I'm the thief, you know." Grinning, she pinched the amulet between her thumb and forefinger. "Look at this lovely thing I found," she quipped in falsetto. "Isn't it lovely? Would you like it, Tanya?"
"Oh, stop it!" Tanya chastised lightly, grabbing the pendant back. "Alright, so you stole it. But I get to give it to Alistair."
"Fair enough," Fiah surrendered. Inspecting the rest of the study, she wondered whether or not there was anything else worth stealing.
Well, the rogue has plenty of time to spare. Her fancy noblewoman friend might not like it, but the rogue plans on making a bit of coin tonight.
It was well past midnight when the ritual was complete. Connor had been saved, but he and Teagan needed to be alone to mourn for Isolde, so the group decided to camp on the outskirts of Redcliffe for one last night. They ended up being short one tent, but Fiah was glad to surrender hers in favor of sleeping under the wide open sky.
The elf seemed to be the only one in decent spirits that night; everyone else was shaken by the ritual, even Kielle. Morrigan, however, was her usual snarky self, which presented Fiah with a wonderful opportunity.
"I was under the impression that setting up camp far away from everyone else meant I did not wish to be disturbed," the witch called as Fiah approached.
"Well, I was under the impression that you'd enjoy what I was going to give you," Fiah shot back, her voice smoothly matching Morrigan's.
"Give me?" The witch narrowed her golden eyes suspiciously.
Fiah nodded, clutching the grimoire behind her back and taking a few slow, deliberate steps towards her camp. "From the Circle."
"Why would I want anything from there?" she scoffed, waving her hand in dismissal.
"Well," Fiah crooned, "Landon told me about this rumor. He said a grimoire had been taken from a Witch of the Wilds, and sure enough, tucked away in a locked chest in the First Enchanter's office, was this." She held the thick book out in front of her, stifling a triumphant grin at Morrigan's wide eyes.
"Mother's grimoire," she breathed, reaching out to take the book. The witch flipped through the pages, scanning the words, her wide eyes devouring its content. "I… I suppose I should thank you?" she stammered, closing the book slowly. "I have no gift of my own, and…" her voice faltered.
"It's fine, Morrigan. It's a gift. You don't have to repay me." Fiah smiled up at Morrigan, trying to push as much sincerity into her blue eyes as possible.
Morrigan's hands grasped the book, and she clutched it close to her chest. For a moment, she looked hopeful. "Then… why?" she asked, her voice quiet and without the venom it typically contained.
It was Fiah's turn to hesitate. Originally, she'd wanted to give the book to Morrigan to try and gain some favor with her, but now that she was leaving, that no longer mattered. "It's no secret that some of our other… companions don't particularly enjoy your presence." Morrigan snorted at that. "I suppose I just wanted to let you know that—" That what? It's not like I can say, "So, here's a gift because I don't hate you!" Maker's breath. Get your shit together, Fiah. "While they might not see it, I admire your strength. I think it's wonderful having you around. Besides," she drawled, "I think it's pretty impressive that you're the daughter of Flemeth. I thought maybe you'd be willing to share some stories?"
"Stories about her lovers, perhaps?" Morrigan suggested, a mischievous gleam in her eyes. "Would you like to hear how she used them until they were wasted? Or perhaps a story about the creative ways she… disposed of the templars who hunted us?"
"Ooh, all good stories, I'm sure." Taking a seat near Morrigan's tiny campfire, Fiah leaned back on her hands and looked up at the star filled sky. "How about shape-shifting? Tell me about that. How does it work? How many animal forms have you tried? Is it magnificent, being out there in the forest—being part of the forest?"
Morrigan joined her by the fire, an odd look crossing her face. "Yes, 'tis truly magnificent. I would describe it as liberating."
As Morrigan began describing her various journeys into the Wilds, Fiah began to feel like a child again, sitting by the hearth with her father, begging him for stories about his hunts.
"Father, tell me the one about the fox again," Fiah pleaded, climbing into her father's lap. She clasped her tiny hands together, holding them up for him to see. "Please? Just one more story before bed?"
"Oh, alright," he laughed. "When I was a very young boy, I ran out into the forest looking for a squirrel who'd eaten a peach from my very first peach tree. Instead, I found a beautiful red fox. She was so scared of me—"
"Because you had your bow!" Fiah interrupted, collapsing into a fit of giggles as her father tickled her as punishment for interrupting.
"Yes," he chuckled, his daughter's laughter contagious. "I had my bow, and she was scared. So I left my weapons and followed her through the forest—very, very quietly. When I found her again, she was curled up with a tiny kit, barely two weeks old. The mother wanted to attack me. Can you tell me why?"
Fiah looked away, her tiny forehead creasing as she pondered her father's many lessons about the forest. "She wanted to protect her kit?" she ventured, her voice small.
"Correct. A mother will always protect her kits before she protects herself." His voice turned serious, his eyes trained on his daughter's carefree face. "As will a father."
His sincerity was lost to Fiah. "Then you gave her your peach!"
"I gave her my lunch, yes. That fox began following me around, all over the forest. Sometimes, she'd even come into the Alienage, and I'd have to shoo her away, out of fear that one of the other elves wouldn't play nice with her. Her fox kit grew to be a strong and fearsome adult, and he would come around my house sometimes, too. But, many years later, the—"
"I would name him Puddles," Fiah announced solemnly, her round eyes focused on her father. "The fox kit. Can I have a fox kit?"
"My dearest Fiahrel," her father smiled, "you may not. One day, I will find you a Mabari to hunt with, and you may name him Puddles. But no foxes for you."
Fiah yawned, trying to hide it from her father lest he send her immediately to bed. "I want a fox kit," she pouted.
"What did you say?" her father feigned. "You want to go to bed?" With a warm chuckle, he scooped his daughter off her feet and carried her to her little pallet that served as her bed, ignoring her shrill laughter and half-hearted protests. He blew out the solitary candle and watched Fiah in the moonlight that streamed through the hole in their roof.
Smiling to herself, Fiah snuggled into the thin pallet and pulled the blanket tighter around her—well, one of her mother's old tunics, which served as her blanket. Her mind was filled with thoughts of tiny red foxes, but she heard her father's soft voice in the still of the night.
"Sleep well, my little fox kit."
