Thanks to everyone who has been reading, alerting/favoriting, and reviewing on this story. The last chapter generated some interesting reviews, and, again, I just love watching how some of you may hit on some plot directions, while others…well, let's just say they I get a giggle sometimes.

My thanks to the following reviewers: Epiphany sola Gratia (first time reviewing this story, thank you for taking the time!), Nithu, Arsinoe de Blassenville, mutive, tgail73, xXBeninekoXx (another first time reviewer who stayed up all night to read chapters 1-35!)

The Halla Reborn

Chapter 36

He stared at the elven woman for a moment, taking in the words that had just come out of her mouth. His amber eyes blinked - once, twice - and then he tilted his head just slightly as though a different angle would help his mind digest her words.

His first reaction was to go off on a tantrum. Had she just said that she had dreams of Loghain? Has she been dreaming of the Teyrn while at the same time saying she loved him?

That quick, knee jerk, got-to-protect-my-heart reaction quickly dissipated, however, as his mind - quicker than most people thought it was - kicked in, pushed aside his emotional reaction, and really listened to what she was saying.

There was a blood mage in control at the palace. Loghain, the Regent, was a blood thrall of that blood mage.

Who knew who else the maleficar controlled? The queen? Perhaps. But, merely having control over Loghain gave the mage control over all of Fereldan - the armies, the nobles, everything.

She stood there, waiting, her blue eyes fixed upon his face although her words had been addressed to everyone in the room. He realized then that it was his reaction that she was most concerned with, his opinion that mattered the most to her. That knowledge eased the last of his tensions away. He may not want to lead, but he did want his opinion to matter.

And he knew that, with Adela, it did.

So he pushed that last vestiges of jealousy that had threatened to explode from his mouth, and frowned, really thinking through the problem.

"You're telling me that you dream of Loghain and believe he's not the bad guy?" he asked, his voice calm if not louder than he had wanted it to be. It echoed slightly in the smaller space. He did not notice that the others of their group cast glances at one another. Niall made as though to speak, but Zevran placed a hand on his shoulder, shaking his white-blond head for silence.

Adela looked over at the others, and then back to Alistair. Confusion was clearly upon her face, and she seemed at a loss for words.

"Alistair," the elven woman whispered, taking a step closer. "That is not what I said."

He frowned, and then rolled his eyes. "Sorry, no, I meant that you had been…what do you call it Niall?" he turned to the mage, who offered up a small smile.

"Fade walking," the helpful mage injected, pleased that there would not be an argument brewing.

"Right, Fade walking," the human warden repeated, turning his attention back to the clearly relieved looking elf. Okay, maybe some of his jealousy and tension had slipped by. But, he didn't mean for it to happen.

"How is it possible that you ended up in his prison?"

The elf shrugged, her eyes seeking out Niall. The mage sat straighter in his seat, obviously pleased that his expertise was called upon by these people he had come to respect so much.

"It is possible that, when someone is trapped in the Fade, that they somehow can 'call' to another being or denizen. After all, with the Harrowing, that's what the templars do - they have a senior mage 'call' to a demon and alert them to the fact that an apprentice is in the Fade, and to go on the hunt."

"Hunt?" Adela's eyes widened. Beside the male mage, Morrigan scoffed - loudly - at such an idea. "Do you mean that they purposefully put a young mage - no, an apprentice, a child - in such a life threatening situation?"

Both Alistair and Niall nodded, sharing uneasy looks. "Yes," Niall answered. "It is a test to see if an apprentice can resist the call of a demon. If they fail…"

"The templars kill the apprentice," Alistair finished in a soft, weak voice, recalling his own experience with an ill fated Harrowing.

Both witch and elf exchanged looks, eyes filled with outrage and indignation. Zevran looked mildly appalled, but remained silent.

"Okay," Adela said from between clenched teeth. "I always knew that the Chantry had rather barbaric practices with regards to mages, but this really is beyond appalling." She took a deep breath, relaxing herself. For all the hardships elves had as a race in human held lands, she was beginning to think that at least relative freedom was better than what the mages had to endure.

"So," she turned back to Niall, getting the conversation back on track. "You are saying that when I'm in the Fade, Loghain can somehow sense someone or something that is Fade sensitive, and a beacon call goes out for help?"

Impressed, the mage nodded his head. "And as we understand you and Loghain already know one another that 'call' recognized you and pulled you in."

Adela began pacing, biting her lower lip in thought. Niall and Morrigan were whispering to one another, Zevran leaning in to listen. Alistair stood, watching Adela, his own face thoughtful.

She paused, her face scrunched up with thought. The young man watched as realization dawned over her features. "What is it?" he asked quietly. The others looked up.

"I've just realized that perhaps some of the dreams I thought I had of Loghain were not dreams at all," she slapped her forehead with a hand, shaking her head, muttering to herself. "What an idiot I am!" she raised her eyes.

"What?"

"Some of the dreams…I think I was actually in Loghain's prison. Only, we each thought the other some figment. I thought he was a dream Loghain, he thought I was a demon or spirit taunting him."

Everyone fell silent for a moment, digesting what the elven warden was telling them. She began to pace again, shaking her head. "He tried to tell me." She paused. "I would ask him how he could have deserted us - the king, the wardens, all those soldiers. He would insist, rather strenuously, that he didn't recall the battle at all."

"How is that possible?" Alistair asked, a scowl on his face. "He was there!"

Adela merely shrugged her shoulders. "All I know is that he was very insistent. And, then, in later 'dreams', he tried to tell me that we had all been betrayed." She threw her hands up in the air. "I had dismissed it as a dream, as what I wanted to hear - that Loghain, the Hero of River Dane, friend of Maric and of my mother, my friend, would never have betrayed us and left us to die."

"A very power blood mage could have control over a person's actions, even from a distance," Morrigan replied, glancing at Niall for confirmation. When he nodded his approval, she continued. "Alter his memories. This mage obviously wanted the king out of the way, and whilst he went about it in a very theatrical manner, it was quite effective." She shrugged her lithe shoulders, a thoughtful expression upon her lovely face. "'Tis obvious he had not believed the rumors of a Blight, else wise I doubt he would have allowed so much of the armies to be decimated."

Alistair was shaking his head. "Okay, "he turned back to Adela, still confused. "If you weren't dreaming but in that prison of his, how come you couldn't tell the difference?"

A long finger tapped her chin. "Maybe because those visits were merely for a normal sleep period. This last visit was over a two week period." She turned and looked at the other warden. "I almost became trapped in it myself."

"That would be normal," Niall confirmed Adela's suspicions with a nod. When Adela and Alistair both turned to him, he continued. "These other 'dreams' you had were during a normal slumber period. You were not in the Fade long enough for your perception to adjust, and so thought it was a dream. This last time you were in the Fade was over a lengthy period. Plenty of time for you to adjust and become aware of your surroundings." The mage shrugged.

"And yet our dear Warden managed to escape her own trap to search the Teyrn out," Zevran added as he followed along the conversation, pleased to have something to add.

Adela smiled at her fellow elf. "It took a while, however." She frowned. "I believed what I saw," she stated. "I knew I was in the Fade, but could not find my way out. It took me…I don't know how long just to get myself free and then I began searching for someone - anyone - or an exit."

"And you stumbled upon Loghain." Alistair said quietly, his eyes watching Adela's face.

With a nod, she then told her companions all about her entrapment and subsequent freedom from the prison, skipping over the identity of the blood mage. She watched as Alistair's eyes lit with understanding, that sheepish look pasted firmly upon his face.

"Well," Zevran put in as he rose to his feet, pushing his chair back and moved to the elven warden. "Regardless of the fact that I think we can safely say that Loghain is a blood thrall, we still have him to contend with, in one fashion or another."

Alistair nodded, and Adela reluctantly agreed. "True," the elf replied. "Even if he is not in control of his faculties, he still is Regent, and the blood mage still uses his voice as a means to control the armies, possibly the queen, and Maker knows what or who else."

"So we continue on as we have been?" Alistair asked, watching Adela closely. He felt a surge of relief when she nodded in affirmation.

"Indeed we do. We can't let our knowledge - or suspicion - that Loghain is held in thrall alter any of our course at this time. We have a Blight to stop. And that means we need to finish collecting on these treaties, seeing to the Arl's recuperation, and possibly confronting Loghain."

"Perhaps there is a way to free the Teyrn from his prison?" Zevran put in with a slight shrug. "Find the mage and kill him. End of all our worries."

"Save we do not know if the mage acts alone or has coconspirators," Morrigan reminded the smirking elf with a smirk of her own.

"Ah, 'tis true, 'tis true," the male replied with a bow toward the perceptive witch.

"We'll cross that bridge when we get to it," Adela said, her eyes going to Alistair. He returned her look and could see that there was more she needed to say. He raised an eye brow at her and she nodded.

"Now, if everyone will excuse us, I have something else that I need to discuss with my fellow warden." She purposefully ignored the knowing smirks Niall and Zevran exchanged as well as the roll of eyes from the witch.

DA:O

The room was…distasteful. Calling it a room was being far too generous. It was a cell, one of those rooms used by the guards who had the dubiously honorific duty of guarding those unfortunates that found themselves in the dungeons of the palace. Cells for those poor souls that there were to be no official records of ever being held.

Rough gray stone made up the walls of the small room, perfectly insulating against sounds escaping to the corridors beyond the heavy iron bound door. Two cots had been placed along the opposite walls, Teyrn Loghain stretched out upon one, fully bound at wrists and ankles. He was gagged for Arawn had no desire to listen to the man's continuous threats and currently glaring up at the mage as he surveyed the bindings of the other cot.

The heavy door swung silently open, admitting a burly guard and two elves. Arawn rose to his feet, his eyes, a bright blue, skimming first across the tiny form of the elven woman before settling upon the taller, broader figure of the elven male he had acquired from Howe. He smirked, indicating the guard to settle the young elven male upon the cot and secure him tightly. He was pleased as the elf struggled and fought against the guard, seeking an escape from his fate. The elven woman merely stood, eyes vacant, in a near catatonic state.

It took several minutes for the guard to strap the male down, hissing as a fist connected squarely with his jaw. The human did not handle the elf carefully. Battered, bruised and bleeding from a split lip, the elf glared up at the human as the final restraint was tightened around his ankle.

With a nod, Arawn dismissed the guard.

He began to draw in his magic, pulling free a long, black bladed dagger from the folds of the Tevinter style robe he currently wore. As his power grew, his eyes darkened, taking on the blood red that marked a blood mage. He pulled the barely conscious elven female into the circle of chalk he had drawn on the floor, brushing her long, red hair back from her shoulder, exposing the slender column of her neck. Almost tenderly, he caressed her throat, his eyes glaring in intensity, as words of power began to spill from his lips. He raised the dagger, completely ignoring the shouts and struggles of the men behind him. Grasping the woman's hair, he pulled her head back with a rough jerk, and she made not a sound - neither whimper nor gasp - as her throat was completely bared to him. The words - ancient Arcanum taught by the blood magisters of Tevinter - became courser, rougher, the power growing, filling the room. The air became heavy, the scent of iron and copper filled the air, and an unnatural chill permeated to the bone. Goosebumps rose on the woman's exposed flesh, and with a shout, Arawn drove the dagger point deeply into the young woman's neck, slicing through flesh, muscle, jugular and bone, nearly decapitating her. Blood spurted wildly from the horrendous wound, and, as the blood mage continued his chanting, allowing the body of the woman to slump to the floor, the blood rose, spiraling first around the maleficar as a whirlwind. He raised his arms, sending the spiral of blood rising upwards, and then spread his arms dramatically outwards, his fingers outstretched. The blood separated into two columns, each stretching out to the men strapped to the cots.

Loghain's eyes widened as he tried to utter out his curses around the cloth binding his mouth. The blood wrapped itself around the human, cocooning him. Suddenly, it converged upon his ears, eyes, nose and mouth, forcing entry into his body. His body jerked, and he shook his head, seeking to prevent the invasion of the girl's life blood. But, there was no hope, and soon every drop of the ghastly column gained entry. With a last spasm, Loghain laid still, his eyes open and vacant.

The elf ignored the struggles of the human across the way from him as he faced off against his own foe. Fear gleamed in his blue eyes, but he struggled bravely, clenching his teeth against the bloody invader. Like Loghain, however, he could not prevent the vile magic's work, and almost as quickly as Loghain had succumbed, so, too, did he.

Arawn's arms dropped to his sides, the words still flowing from his lips, his eyes, gleaming blood red, almost dripping bloody tears, focused upon the still form of the girl. He stepped closer, raising his arms over her body, the words still uttering from his throat, watching as the girl's skin grayed, and then flaked from her bones as dry parchment, splintering into dust. The particles rose up in a vortex, spiraling upwards. Soon, the organs, bones and muscle of the girl flaked and splintered, joining the flesh in the cyclone that spun in front of the mage. Two forms emerged from the twisting column, vaguely humanoid. Each form stepped to the bound men, leaning over them. Fingerless hands settled upon each forehead and pressed down. Soon, the forms merged with elf and human, vanishing from sight.

Exhausted, the blood mage finished the ritual. Not a trace of the elven girl remained, not even her clothing, which had rotted and vanished. The elven male lay quietly, his blue eyes open, sweat soaking into his hair, darkening it to near brown. The blood mage stepped over, and was pleased to note that he yet breathed, his heart beat strong. He reached down with a strong hand and closed the disturbingly gem blue eyes. He repeated the examination and gesture over Loghain's body. Then, satisfied that Loghain was now properly contained, the maleficar stepped from the cell, locking the door firmly behind him.

DA:O

Adela led Alistair into her room and quietly closed the door behind them. She paused, running a finger along the wavy grain of the door, her mind briefly taking in the high quality of the wood. With a sigh, she turned to Alistair, who was standing a few feet from her, watching her closely.

"Do you trust me, Alistair?'

Confusion marred his handsome face, bringing his brow together. "Overlooking that little temper tantrum I almost tossed…of course I do."

"Okay, there is more I need to say, but I wanted to tell you before the others knew. You are not going to like that any better than you have already been enjoying this conversation."

"Should I sit down?" he tried to joke, but was tense, picking up on Adela's own concern.

"That…might be a good idea," she offered with a small smile, waving at his chair. When he was settled in, she replied. "I thought I should tell you this part before letting the others in on it. It is rather…disturbing."

"More disturbing than learning that the regent of Fereldan is a blood thrall and being imprisoned in the Fade?"

"What if I told you I know who the blood mage is holding the regent as a blood thrall?" She crossed her arms, her bluest of eyes fixed upon Alistair's face.

He frowned. "You do?" he asked. "Who is it?"

Adela took a deep breath. This was not going to be easy. She moved closer to Alistair, then knelt on the floor beside him. He had moved forward, his hands clasped, elbows on his knees. Her eyes closed as she tried to find the words to tell Alistair that not only did he have another older brother, but one who worked against them, against Fereldan. Seeing no other way around it, she opened her mouth.

"While I was in the Fade…," she began, taking Alistair's hands in her own, gently rubbing the back of his hands with her thumbs. "When I came upon the room where Loghain was confined to, another man was exiting the chambers, locking the door behind him. I hid in the shadows and he did not notice me. Alistair, the man looked like you and Cailan," the young bastard of Maric stiffened, his back straightening out, his hands slipping free of Adela's grasp. His eyes were wide in disbelief and he shook his head, even as Adela spoke her next words. "The blood mage holding Loghain prisoner and apparently working for control within the palace is called Arawn."

She took a deep breath. "And he is another son of Maric."

DA:O

Carefully tucking her hands inside the pockets of her robe, the elderly mage slowly walked the hall of the castle that led from Arlessa Isolde's chambers toward her own. The Arlessa had asked for the elderly mage's company for the better part of the day, stating that she found the older woman's company soothing, her wisdom a means to see a way forward to the future.

Wynne paused briefly, turning back toward the younger woman's door. She was physically recovering quite nicely, and had resumed her duties with patience and noble bearing. The mage could also see a bit of resignation in the woman's attitude as well as a more subdued nature that had not been present when they had first met. She is grieving, the elderly mage thought as she resumed her pace back to her chambers. Grieving for a son who should not have perished; for a son who should never have known the horrors he had prior to his death.

A wizened hand reached out to the knob of her door, turning as the mage realized that the Arlessa, Orlesian born, raised to believe that those under her rule were all servants and therefore unworthy of her attention, had also changed significantly in that regards. She had noticed a more patient, grateful attitude toward servants and citizens alike. Perhaps some good can come from this tragedy, Wynne thought as she pushed her door open and stepped inside.

DA:O

Eamon paced his study, avoiding looking at the family portrait - commissioned just two years prior - that hung over the mantle of the fireplace. Upon awakening he had learned of the tragedy that had befallen Redcliffe, learned how his enemies had managed to poison him, how his son had perished. All because of a fear of magic, he thought, rubbing the bridge of his nose with one large hand. The loss of his son hurt deeply, and he had trouble spending time with his wife as she had been partly to blame for the misfortunes of the village and his household. He understood her fear. However, although he still loved her, he found her company unbearable at the moment.

That his son died at the hands of Alistair hurt the older man greatly as well. Wynne and the other mage had explained, and Ser Gilmore had later confirmed, what had happened, how the young man had tried to forestall the inevitable for as long as possible. It was only when the lives of others were, yet again, threatened that he had to act. Logically, Eamon could accept it - as a noble, it was his place - his responsibility to oversee the welfare of those under his rule.

As a father, his heart was broken, and he had trouble accepting that his son - his only son and heir - was dead. And, given Isolde's age, it was unlikely that another child would be blessed to them.

He sighed, heavily, turning away from those thoughts to others that were, at this time of national crisis, far more relevant.

There was the matter of securing the throne to the Silver Knight's bloodline. Alistair was key to that preservation. He was concerned by some of the talk he had overhead from those members of Ser Gilmore's party. That the elven artisan from Denerim was the Commander of the Grey Wardens was unimaginable to the Arl. How that happened was beyond the nobleman. That she would influence Alistair in any manner was disturbing.

He knew the rumors about her and Cailan. He did not for a moment believe any of the rumors, but had nevertheless made certain that they circulated amongst the lesser nobles. Her influence over Cailan and Anora had been great. Their focus on the lovely little elf and her kind had caused more than one disruption in the Landsmeet over the years, causing other, more important matters to be placed on hold or skimmed over far quicker than the noble would have liked.

If she had that kind of influence over Alistair, all of his plans and designs for himself and Fereldan could fall by the wayside.

He had heard Ser Gilmore and the Orlesian woman talk about Adela, and it was obvious by the tone of the man's voice and the words he used that he held an affection for the elf. He tucked that piece of information to the back of his mind, hoping that the former knight's influence over the elf would counterweigh any she may have over Maric's son.

Gray eyes skimmed over to the door, as though penetrating to see down the corridors. Fortunately, he may well have the key to garner the young Theirin's attention safely sequestered in the West Wing.

DA:O

Several days following Adela's revelation regarding Loghain's Fade prison and the identity of the blood mage that held him in thrall, and Alistair was still trying to process the information. He had not been surprised so much by the fact that there existed yet another bastard son of Maric. Given what the young man knew of the king, that only two bastards had emerged was a greater surprise.

What had been difficult to accept was the fact that a son of Maric would turn to blood magic, and then seek to usurp the throne of Fereldan. From what little he knew of Cailan, he believed that he and his royal brother had similar personality traits, and he believed those traits were more hereditary than taught, given Alistair's own childhood. That a child of Maric's could go so far against the grain…it was a bit staggering.

He glanced up from his bowl, and noticed that he sat at the dinner table, alone with his thoughts. Morrigan, in a surprisingly uncharacteristic move, had decided to go down to the village and look in on the newborn. Zevran and Niall had retired to their chambers, but only after the elf had, with a suggestive waggle of his brows, suggested that Alistair and Adela join the pair of men as well. Alistair's face had heated crimson as he stuttered out an incoherent reply. Maker! He and Adela had not even…gone beyond kissing and cuddling and here the damnable elf was suggesting…! With a sly chuckle, Zev had wrapped his arm around Niall's shoulder and the two disappeared into their rooms.

Finished with his meal, he placed it into the sink, promising to clean up in the morning. He went to Adela's door and knocked, opening it upon hearing her welcome.

Adela sat on the floor before the fire, her arms wrapped around her bent knees, gazing into the fire. Smiling, Alistair made his way and sat down behind her, pulling her so that she was leaning back against him, his strong arms wrapped around her slender body. They spent the early part of the evening discussing a variety of matters - from the newest addition to the village population to wondering how their missing friends were faring in Redcliffe. That brought up more conversation from Alistair regarding his childhood, and the elf, once again, found it difficult to not resent the Arl who was supposed to have taken care of a young Alistair but instead did all in his power to make him as miserable and neglected as possible.

Her back stiffened slightly as he recounted how he had to spend weeks at a time in the kennels during a particularly bad winter storm in order to keep warm.

"I know you haven't had the best of childhoods," Adela's voice was calm, deceptively so. "Throughout your life, no one has cared for you, watched out for your wellbeing. Somehow, people found it easy to simply put you to the side. I'm still rather upset with Maric for doing so." She tilted her face so that she could look up into his down turned eyes. "I imagine that you are waiting for that moment when I pull the rug out from under you," she put a small hand to his cheek, and he pressed his face to its warmth, closing his eyes. She realized just how close to the truth she was. "Believe me, Alistair, when I tell you I will never betray you. I will always be keeping your well being in mind."

Alistair sighed, leaning down to place a kiss to her forehead. "I admit it, I am a little scared."

"Sometimes I forget that you did not have a family that loved you, people who looked after you. And not just parents, either," her eyes misted slightly as she thought of her family, her community and friends. "I know what it is to have people around who care for you. I know how important and empowering it can be. Eamon did not do right by you, love, and the Chantry is certainly no place for anyone to feel loved and wanted."

Alistair grinned, bending further down to place a warm kiss on her lips. Adela snuggled closer to his warmth. "I almost feel guilty sometimes."

Confused, Alistair asked, "Whatever for?"

She shrugged against his chest, brushing against the wool of his heavy shirt. "I knew your family, Alistair," she twisted in his arms, gazing up into his face. "I knew your father and your brother. You should have been there as well, but for some foolish notion you were not."

The elven woman had turned completely around in his arms, sitting cross-legged, his arms around her back. Alistair paused, staring at her, and realization dawned over him.

"Imagine that," he muttered, his brown eyes fixed upon the fire behind the woman in his arms. "If I had been able to be with my family, you and I would've met a long time ago." His eyes drifted down to Adela's face, a wistful expression therein. "We could have been friends for all of this time. Maybe…"

Adela shrugged at that, nudging his slightly with her shoulder. "We don't know that, Alistair." She grinned up at him. "Perhaps you would have been the spoiled younger son, bullied by an older brother, and so would have bullied a younger, smaller girl. You could have been a brat!" She poked him, hard, in the chest.

"Hey!" He rubbed at the spot. "I don't think so! I'd still the lovable slob I am now. Just, dressed better." He grinned. "And with more cheese!"

"I doubt that." Adela teased, smirking up into his face.

The grin left Alistair's face after a moment, and he shook his head. "Naw, it would not have worked out. I never would have become a Warden, and I just can't imagine not being one."

She reached up and kissed the bottom of Alistair's strong chin. "Who knows what would have happened, Alistair. There is a theory I once heard a very learned man talk about. He called it the butterfly effect, how one small occurrence - or a series of seemingly small, insignificant occurrences - can change and affect a much larger scheme."

The young man nodded and she continued.

"He said that everything that is set upon its current path could be altered by the smallest of things happening. Imagine that a traveler comes to a crossroads and turns left instead of right. He then goes to a village that is under attack and helps save the villagers. The scholar suggested that a rock had been placed in that crossroads, causing the traveler to trip and sprain his ankle. He then turns right instead of left, knowing that there is a farmhouse nearby. His travels would have brought him somewhere else, and the village would have perished."

"So, one small, insignificant change could have been the cause for a drastic result." Alistair replied, recalling a similar theory during one of his lessons back at the Chantry.

Adela nodded, snuggling closer to Alistair. "So, as distasteful as things were, in either of our pasts, that they happened helped to bring us together. And not just for what we have between the two of us…"

"But with regards to the Blight itself," Alistair grinned, hugging her closer. "Hmm…that's a much nicer way to look back at my childhood. As a stepping stone to you."

"Ah ha," Adela raised her face, encouraging Alistair to place his lips upon hers. Their kiss deepened as his arms tightened around her body, her hands threading through his hair.

Maybe they could talk some more…later.