They both felt awkward and self-conscious on their return to camp. They'd walked back staying side-by-side as much as the forest allowed them to, sometimes brushing against each other at thigh or hand or elbow or shoulder as they moved, flicking shy little glances at each other at each passing contact, when they weren't having to concentrate on their footing.
When they were almost back to the clearing, Alistair stopped, catching hold of Jowan's arm and dragging him to a stop as well. Jowan paused and looked at him curiously.
"Rather not return to camp looking like we've been rolling around in the grass," Alistair explained dryly. "Zevran will likely find reason to make a comment anyway, I'd rather not give him any additional evidence."
Jowan grinned. "Especially since we were, only not in the way he'd likely think." They hadn't done anything more than sleep in the grass, and share that one wonderful, eye-opening kiss, but he doubted the dratted assassin would ever believe them, especially if they showed up looking rumpled.
Alistair grinned, and blushed. "Exactly," he agreed.
Jowan thought Alistair's blushes were just adorable, and he stood quietly, smiling and watching the man, while Alistair brushed him down and straightened his collar, before finger-combing his hair. It was very pleasant, standing there quietly, letting the other man handle him.
Alistair gave a soft laugh, and showed him a tuft of cattail fluff he'd just untangled from Jowan's hair. Jowan laughed as well.
"How am I? Presentable as well?" Alistair asked, discarding the scrap of fluff and holding his arms out to either side.
Jowan smiled, and briskly set the other man's clothing to order as well. He grinned as he took the opportunity to ruffle Alistair's hair, enjoying the feel of it against the palms of his hand.
"Hey! No messing with the hair," Alistair exclaimed, grinning widely at him."It takes me ages to get it just the way I want it."
"Yes, I know, I've seen you fussing with it for hours every morning," Jowan said dryly, smiling fondly at the templar. It amused him, how the man always talked as if he was a vain popinjay about his hair, when his idea of hair care involved plunging his head into whatever clean water was available, scraping it back from his forehead, then roughly finger-combing it upright and pretty much ignoring it the rest of the day. No wonder he kept most of it cropped so short; it was the sort of hairstyle that look no actual work to maintain, other then a regular trimming.
They were still smiling as they walked back into the camp, still side by side though not as closely together as they had been out in the forest.
The others were mainly gathered around the fire – or at least, where the fire would be later in the day, it was a circle of ashes at the moment – except Wynne, who was sitting on a stump in front of her tent, reading, and Morrigan, who was over at her separate encampment doing whatever it was she did when she was over there.
Arren was facing their direction and saw them first, smiling warmly at the sight of the pair of them. "Have a good walk?" he called out, the others turning to look the same way at his words.
"Yes, very nice," Alistair agreed. "Saw lots of wildlife and trees and things. How'd your hunting go?"
Zevran made a face. "We did not find anything worth bagging. Unless we wanted squirrel stew, and there is enough meat still in the pot that I did not think we needed to go quite that far just yet."
Sten grunted in agreement.
Arren grinned. "I think Mouse got a rabbit or two, but he wasn't in a sharing mood."
Alistair laughed, and sank down onto one of the lengths of fallen log dragged up around the fire pit. Jowan sat down beside him. They spent a pleasant hour or two just sitting there and talking, mainly about fighting and weapons, before it came time to begin preparing supper.
In the days that followed, Alistair and Jowan mainly took things very slowly, adjusting to the new closeness between them. When they had some privacy, they spent more time kissing, and at nights began their first hesitant explorations of each other's body, touching and stroking and rubbing, sometimes grinning and biting back laughter at their own or each other's reactions.
But the one thing that neither of them could manage to forget or get past was that they were closely surrounded by other people, their tent in easy earshot of several of them. Even as they increasingly lost their shyness with each other, they both shied away from revealing the extent of their relationship to the others through noises in the night.
A thunderstorm rolled in one evening, driving everyone into their tents. After the mad scramble to get all of their gear and themselves safely under cover, the two found themselves grinning madly at each other. Between raindrops drumming on canvas and the frequent rolls of thunder, it was unlikely anyone would be able to hear anything. Without another word, the two stripped down, scattering their clothes around the tent in their haste.
Alistair pulled Jowan close, the mage straddling his lap, and the two kissed hungrily, Alistair's arms folding around the mage's waist while Jowan raised his own hands to cup Alistair's head. Alistair made a growling noise of approval as Jowan plundered his mouth, then relaxed his hold a little, settling his hands flat against the mage's back and then slowly stoking them up and down against his skin, enjoying the feel of taut muscles and smooth warm skin under his fingertip. He shuddered as Jowan groaned and arched back against his touch, felt the press of Jowan's erection against his own stomach even as his own swelled against the man's buttocks.
Jowan wiggled backwards a little, reaching down with one hand, the other arm draping around Alistair's neck. He gently lifted Alistair's erection up between his own thighs, then lightly cupped his hand around it, rubbing the tip with one thumb. Alistair gasped and jerked, then grinned, breaking their kiss as he shifted his own position enough to get his hand in between the two of them as well, returning the favour, drawing a pleased hissing sound from Jowan. They'd stroked each other a little before, but had both flinched away from bringing each other off, being content with just getting each other pleasantly excited. Tonight, they knew, they were going further then that.
They soon had each other more than just pleasantly excited, both of them gasping and making little sounds of approval as they handled each other. Alistair leaned his forehead on Jowan's shoulder, trying to keep down his whimpers of pleasure as the mage rocked on his lap, Jowan hissing and muttering quiet oaths as he surged into Alistair's cupped hand, his own hand tightening and flexing on Alistair's cock, sliding up and down, rather more jerkily then the warrior was managing. But then his own weight on Alistair's lap was effectively pinning him down, preventing him from moving.
He felt his own peak coming all too quickly, and flushed as he heard the moans and cries he was making. He was not going to be able to keep quiet much longer... he lowered his own head, closing his teeth around the top of Alistair's shoulder, and bit down hard to muffle his cries as he rose up on his knees, pumped frantically against Alistair's hand, then arched, spending on the warrior's stomach. Alistair gave a hoarse cry of his own, part surprised pain at the bite, mostly pleasure as he came unravelled himself.
Jowan lowered himself carefully back down, both of them releasing their grips on each other. They sat that way for a moment, ignoring the sticky mess on their stomachs and thighs, heads resting on each other's shoulder, arms around each other, their breathing slowly returning to its normal pace. Alistair turned his head, and gently kissed Jowan's cheek.
"You okay?" he asked softly.
Jowan turned his own head, pulling it back enough that Alistair could see the content smile on his face. "Yes."
They untangled themselves, then wiped themselves off, both grinning and exchanging looks that were equal parts embarrassed and pleased, before curling up together, Jowan spooned back against Alistair.
"I wonder what else we can do," Alistair whispered after a while, just loud enough to be heard over the rain.
"I'm... not quite sure. Mouths. I've heard that's good." Jowan answered. "I'm regretting I didn't spend more time listening to the stories some of the other apprentices told. I know there's... other things we can do, that are supposed to be really nice, but they can hurt a lot if you don't know how to do them right, so... I don't know."
Alistair made a grunt of agreement from behind him. "Same regret. I mean, growing up in a stable I'm, err... at least familiar with the concept of some of them, but the mechanics involved? Not so much."
They lay in silence for a while.
"There is someone we could ask," Alistair reluctantly pointed out after a while. "I'm sure he'd be pleased to explain everything. Possibly with visual aids."
Jowan gave a snort of laughter. "True. He'd know," he agreed, then craned his head to look back over his shoulder at Alistair, remembering the looks the assassin had been giving him when they'd been bathing. "I'll ask him, not you," he said firmly.
Alistair laughed.
Jowan was as good as his word. When they were done setting up camp the next day, Alistair saw him head over to where the elf was sitting under a tree, working on sharpening his daggers. Zevran looked up curiously, listening to his question, then his eyebrows crawled halfway up his forehead before his bright eyes flicked over to meet Alistair's.
Alistair could feel his skin flush with one of those damned blushes, but forced himself to meet the elf's appraising look, to keep his own features steady in the face of a broadly amused grin from the assassin. Zevran looked back to Jowan, nodded, and rose to his feet, taking the mage by the arm and leading him further away from the encampment. Not out of sight, but far enough away that no one could possibly overhear what they were saying to each other.
They stood for a while, side by side, almost leaning against each other as the elf talked, apparently making descriptive gestures with his hands, at least judging by the movement of his shoulders and elbows. The gestures were thankfully concealed by their bodies. After a while the elf returned to what he'd been doing, still grinning in amusement. Jowan stayed where he was for a while, looking off into the woods, then finally returned and walked back to Alistair's side.
"Everything okay? That took longer then I expected..."
Jowan actually snickered, his eyes alight with mischievous glee. "Let's just say the elf knows far more about the subject than I dreamed was even possible. And he told me he was just giving me a quick rundown of the basics. I think we'll have, um... enough food for thought to keep us busy for a long time before we need to ever enquire about the advanced course."
"Good. It worried me a little when you took so long before coming back."
Jowan shot him a sidelong look, grinned again. "Let's just say the elf is very good at description. I, errr... had to wait for emotions to subside a little before I ca...before I walked back."
Alistair blinked, then laughed.
"And we either need to pray hard for more thunderstorms, or start pitching our tent further from the others," Jowan added.
They both turned and looked at their already-pitched tent.
"I suppose it might be too obvious if we moved it now," Alistair said wistfully.
Jowan bit his lip for a moment. "To the Black City with it, Zevran already knows, I bet Arren and Leliana suspect... let's just move the damned thing and be done with it."
Alistair grinned. He didn't even mind when he heard Zevran's bark of laughter as he saw what the pair were doing.
It was good to finally be open about their relationship. Alistair blushed a lot the first few days, when little things happened like him noticing Leliana smiling at the sight of him and Jowan holding hands as they walked, but he quickly got over the worst of it. And Jowan had so obviously blossomed now, walking with an assured self-confidence that had been missing before. Most of his apparent shyness had faded away, too, apparently having been based more in his fear and lack of self-confidence then in the reality of his personality. Alistair liked the change in his friend.
It wasn't until they came in sight of Lake Calenhad, the towering height of Kinloch Hold clearly visible from miles away, that he saw Jowan begin to look nervous again. It saddened him, seeing the change that came over the man as they approached the Spoiled Princess, the fear in his eyes at being so close to that place that had once been his home, and was no longer.
Their business at the inn didn't take long, the tavern keeper quietly warning them off, saying he'd not seen Brother Genitivi, though he had seen some of the Redcliffe knight. He warned them he was being watched, and refusing to divulge anything else.
They exited the tavern and found themselves being ambushed by the very watchers they'd just been warned about. It was a short, brutal fight, ending with all of the ambushers dead. Searching the bodies afterwards, they found a map on the person that had appeared to be leading the attack. A map that seemed to suggest that their attackers had come from a tiny town somewhere in the mountains across the lake.
Arren decided to stay the night at the inn, now that they'd effectively rendered it safe. It would be nice to sleep indoors for once, in real beds – at least, everyone else felt that way, even if Arren himself preferred a bedroll out under the stars to shemlen comforts.
Alistair more than half suspected that they had Morrigan to thank for their leader's change of heart; she certainly had no objection to taking advantage of creature comforts, when they were available.
Jowan was especially clingy that night, not in a demanding way, just... needing the reassurance of physical contact. Alistair had no objections to holding his partner, and wrapped him securely in both arms, tangling his legs with his. He could feel Jowan trembling slightly as he pressed close. He could only imagine the demons of memory that being so close to the tower raised in the mage's mind. As bad or worse than what he'd felt, returning to Redcliffe.
"If you had a second chance, could do it over again... would you still want to go through your harrowing?" he asked hesitantly.
Jowan went very still, then nodded."Yes," he croaked out. "Until I'm harrowed, I will never be anything but an apprentice. A failed one," he added bitterly. "Hunted and hounded and under threat of death. But there are no second chances in life."
Alistair smiled, and shook his head. "Some times there are. Over a year ago now, a Grey Warden named Duncan gave one to a clumsy brat of an almost-templar. And now I'm offering one to you. If you think you can be brave enough to go to the tower with me tomorrow, to trust me, no matter how illogical it might seem... you can have your harrowing. I promise it, on my word as a Grey Warden."
Jowan's grip tightened convulsively on him. "Would I... would I have to stay there, after...?" he asked shakily after a moment.
"No. If you fail, you'll be dead, and if you pass... you're still our companion."
"Then... yes," Jowan exclaimed, voice raw with fear and longing. "I still want to go through with it. To prove that I can."
Alistair nodded, and just held him tightly.
Only a small group of them went over to the tower the next day – Arren, Wynne, Alistair and Jowan. As they went up to and entered the tower, Jowan held tightly to Alistair's left arm, with a white-knuckled grip that would have raised bruises had it been on flesh instead of heavy plate. He felt only slightly relieved when the pair of guards at the door totally failed to recognize him, even though he recognized them.
Arren informed the guards that they were there to speak to Greagoir and Irving, and the guards nodded and let them through, politely sending a messenger – a junior templar – dashing off upstairs ahead of them to let the pair know they were on their way up.
Jowan stared in shock as they climbed the tower. He'd heard, of course, about what had happened here, but hearing of it and seeing the place so echoingly empty, so few apprentices and mages left, shook him to the bones. So many dead, so many lives ended forever. How many of them were people that he'd known?
By the time they climbed up to the First Enchanter's office, he and Greagoir were both waiting. Greagoir smiled warmly at the group of them "Arren, good to see you again. And you as well, Wynne. Alistair. And... who is this?" he asked looking puzzled, obviously not sure who the fourth man was, but feeling he should recognize him.
"Maker's breath! It's Jowan!" Irving exclaimed, rising to his feet so quickly his chair went over backwards.
The Knight-Commander had his sword in hand within moments of the words passing Irving's lips, only to find his path to the diminutive mage blocked, Alistair and Arren standing shoulder-to-shoulder in front of him, their eyes narrowed and their own hands resting pointedly on their own weapon hilts, Arren's huge sword partially drawn from the scabbard on his back.
"Wait, please! Greagoir, Irving – hear out what we have to say before anyone takes any rash or foolish action," Wynne exclaimed.
Greagoir hesitated, eyes narrowing, then slowly stepped back, and eased his sword back into its sheath. "All right," he said, voice clipped. "This better be good."
Arren stepped off to the side again, his sword sliding back into its sheath with an audible thunk, and turned to look at Alistair. "All yours, brother," he said, a slight smile crossing his lips.
Alistair shot him a thankful smile, then pulled Jowan forward. The mage had gone pale, and was shaking like a leaf, eyes pressed tightly closed. "Trust me," Alistair murmured by his ear.
Jowan nodded, drew a long, shaky breath, and opened his eyes, willing himself to relax. It was hard to do, with Greagoir and Irving standing there staring at him so suspiciously, but Alistair was at his side, and Arren was looking at him with a slight smile on his face, and even Wynne gave a slight, approving nod of her head when he glanced her way.
He felt Alistair's hand settle on his left shoulder, the fingers squeezing a little, the hard armour of his arm against Jowan's back a pressure that was comforting, reassuring, not the threat he once would have seen it.
Alistair looked at the two waiting men, gave them a very slight bow. "Knight-Commander. First Enchanter. This is Jowan, an apprentice mage of this Circle. We've brought him here to you today because he still needs his harrowing," he said calmly.
"What!" Greagoir barked, looked puzzled. Irving merely frowned thoughtfully, glancing from the mage to Alistair and back again.
"And why would we want to harrow a blood mage!" Greagoir spat. "He's already proven that he's only deserving of death!"
"No, ser," Alistair objected, shaking his head. "He is not a blood mage."
"Are you denying he's ever used blood magic?" Irving asked, cautiously.
"It would be a foolish argument to make, given that he's used it on us," Greagoir dryly pointed out.
"No. But I am arguing that it is not the use of blood magic that necessarily makes one a blood mage, no more than the use of a hammer or saw necessarily makes one a carpenter."
Greagoir looked puzzled. Irving merely looked... startled. And interested. "Go on," he said after a moment. "Your argument... intrigues me."
Alistair nodded, and took a deep breath. "Jowan has freely admitted to me that he did, indeed, study blood magic – out of curiosity, mainly. He took it as far as trying – and succeeding in – a single simple spell, using only his own blood. After which he decided that it was not a branch of magic he had any real interest in pursuing further, and dropped its study."
"And yet we know he did in fact go on to use it again, on at least two notable occasions, and Maker only knows how many others," Greagoir grimly pointed out.
Alistair nodded. "Yes, he did. Knight-Commander, First Enchanter, I must ask the two of you... before the incident with Jowan's phylactery, had you drafted and signed a paper authorizing Jowan to be made tranquil rather than harrowed?"
"What!" the Knight-commander barked angrily. "Of course not! The boy had never shown any interest in being made tranquil, and while templars at other circles have argued that applying it involuntarily in cases where the mage is judged likely to fail is a kinder mercy then allowing their failure, we have certainly never subscribed to any such clap-trap here!"
"Am I to believe that Jowan claims to have seen such a paper?" Irving asked sharply, his eyes flint-like.
"No. But he was assured by a chantry sister, one Lily by name, that she had seen such a paper, and on its basis she convinced him to organize an escape attempt for the two of them."
"Ah. Her," Irving said, and shot Greagoir a look.
Greagoir looked grim. "I'd certainly not put it past her," he agreed.
Jowan was looking back and forth between the two of them, surprised by their reaction to her name. "Please," he suddenly spoke up. "Lily – what happened to her? I know you were threatening her with being sent to Aeonar, before I... before I ran..."
Greagoir sighed. "I wish we had," he said bitterly. "No, her repentance after you left seemed... contrite, so she was allowed to stay on. I wish we'd known earlier about her real part in your escape attempt," he added grimly. "Her next attempt to leave the tower involved her poisoning several of the guards. She claimed she thought it was only a sleeping draught she'd put in their wine. It was after that incident that she was finally sent to Aeonar."
"She may even have honestly believed that it was merely a sleeping draught, at the time," Irving said. "It was quite some time later before we ever found out from whom she'd acquired the potion. A certain mage named Uldred, whom I'm sure you three remember."
"Only too well," Wynne responded, Arren and Alistair nodding in agreement.
"Very well, continue with your argument, please," Irving prompted, looking at Alistair.
Alistair nodded. "Jowan was deathly afraid that he was going to be made tranquil, rather then given his harrowing. Lily clearly played on those fears, engineering their resultant escape attempt. When the attempt failed, you threatened him with summary execution, did you not, Greagoir?"
The Knight-Commander reluctantly nodded. "I did. At the time it seemed justified."
"Justified, when all that had happened was the destruction of an easily-replaced phylactery?" Alistair asked mildly.
"He was a blood-mage! His subsequent actions proved it!" Greagoir snapped.
Irving made an interested sound, and straightened in his chair. "My dear friend, I think you have just hit on exactly the point our warden friend is striving to make – that until he was threatened with his own imminent death, Jowan had not used blood magic, not in any real capacity, and therefore was not in fact a blood mage."
Alistair grinned approvingly at the man. "Exactly, ser," he agreed, then turned back to a slightly flabbergasted-looking Greagoir.
"How many people died in his escape attempt? Or were injured? Enthralled? What source did Jowan use for the blood to power his spells?" he rapped out the questions one after another.
Greagoir was frowning in thought. Slowly, his shoulders slumped, the fight going out of him. He looked up after a minute, looked steadily at the mage standing by Alistair's side. "You are right," he said suddenly. "I let my fears control me. The whole tower was so rife with rumours of a blood mage coven at the time... I guess I was seeing threat where none existed. Maker knows I managed to miss seeing where it really lay," he added bitterly. "Perhaps I am getting too old for this job."
"Never, Greagoir," Irving said quietly. "We accrete experience as a tree grows rings. This has been a bitter, bitter year for both of us. But we must learn from it, and move on, and never forget what mistakes we have made. With luck, we'll not repeat them. With real luck, neither will our predecessors."
Greagoir nodded.
The two men looked at each other for a long moment, a speaking look. Irving raised an eyebrow after a while. Greagoir snorted and gave a slight nod, then turned back to look at Alistair and Jowan.
"Very well. You may have your harrowing, though there is one condition I must insist upon, given the events that led to Jowan's... extended absence from the circle."
"And that is?" Alistair asked, a wary edge in his voice.
"That we replace his phylactery. In return for which, he will be harrowed, and recognized as a full mage if he passes. The orders for his capture or death will be rescinded, and he will be reinstated as a full member of this circle."
Alistair turned and looked at his friend. "Your call, my friend," he said. "You know I won't force you to do it if you don't want to."
The smile that lit Jowan's face made his heart lurch in his chest.
"Yes," Jowan said. "Please. I'll do it."
Irving himself drew the blood, casting the minor spell that forever linked the contents of the phylactery to the donor. Greagoir nodded satisfaction as it was given into his keeping.
"The harrowing chamber has been made ready," he told them. "Shall we proceed?"
"One additional request, please," Alistair said quietly.
"Yes?" Greagoir asked.
"I will stand as knight-attendant to the candidate," Alistair said, quietly, reaching to lightly touch fingers to the hilt of his sword. "I've promised him that if he fails, I'll cut him down myself."
Greagoir gave the younger man a startled look, which quickly turned to a piercingly evaluative look. He finally nodded in understanding. "Very well. It is acceptable."
They climbed to the Harrowing Chamber at the top of the tower. It was brightly lit by sunlight pouring in the stained glass windows, long since cleaned of the horrors that had filled it when Uldred and his coven of blood mages had broken the circle.
Jowan had always expected that he'd be frightened, being here, facing his harrowing, and instead found himself filled with hope as he looked around the sunlit room. A ring of templars lined the walls. Arren and Wynne stood near the top of the stairs, waiting calmly, Arren with a look of interest on his face.
Greagoir, Irving, Alistair and Jowan walked out to the centre of the room, near to the simple stand that held the pool of lyrium-infused fluid that Jowan would ingest as part of the ritual.
Irving calmly spoke the nearly ceremonial words he used with all apprentices. "Every mage must go through this trial by fire. As we succeeded, so shall you. Keep your wits about you and remember the Fade is a realm of dreams. The spirits may rule it, but your own will is real."
"Approach the pool, and drink," Greagoir intoned.
Jowan stepped forward. Behind him, he heard the scrape of Alistair's sword leaving its scabbard, the slight tink of its tip touching down on the stone floor. The sound did not frighten him. It gave him confidence. Alistair had his back. He could trust his friend to do whatever was... the necessary thing.
He cupped his hands, lifted a double handful of the glowing blue liquid. Paused, and looked over his shoulder, smiling as his eyes met calm amber ones.
"I love you," he said, clearly, happily, then turned away again, and drank.
Alistair sat quietly beside the bed, watching Jowan sleep. He'd had no doubt at all that the mage would pass his harrowing, not when he'd seen so much of his inner strength in the weeks since they'd first met. Greagoir and Irving, on the other hand, had been shocked – not so much at Jowan having passed, but at the speed with which he'd done so. They were still arguing amicably over whether it was the third- or second-fastest harrowing they could recall even as they left the room after seeing "the boy" safely settled.
That had been almost an hour ago; Jowan should be waking soon. No sooner had Alistair thought so when the mage yawned, and stretched, opening his eyes. He smiled when he saw Alistair sitting beside the bed.
"Hello, Mage Jowan," Alistair said, grinning. "Had enough beauty sleep?"
Jowan snorted. "If that's what it takes to have beauty sleep, I'll pass and remain my normal homely self, thank you very much," he said.
Alistair laughed, and rose to his feet, reaching out to offer his hand to help Jowan up. "Homely, you? Maybe when you were a spotty-faced gangly kid. Not now," he said.
Jowan gave his a startled look, surprised at the sincerity in his voice, then smiled as he rose. "Not that you're in the least biased, of course," he said.
"Not, not at all," Alistair happily agreed, and gave him a lingering kiss. "Show off," he muttered.
"What?" Jowan said surprised.
"I love you too, you know," Alistair told him, softly, his ears turning bright red as he spoke. "Just don't go expecting me to declare it quite so... flamboyantly."
Jowan laughed. "Oh. That. Sorry. I just... if anything did go wrong, I didn't want to have never told you that," he said shyly.
"I'm glad you did. It mainly made me wish that I'd thought to say it first," he added, grinning at the mage. "Anyway, you're now an official mage again. You can wear the shiny robes and everything, if you want."
Jowan wrinkled his nose. "I like breeches and a shirt. I swear, ninety percent of mage robes are designed with the idea in mind of making mages easier to spot from a distance. I'd rather blend in, thank you, especially when the landscape is full of darkspawn and bandits."
"And bounty hunters, don't forget the bounty hunters."
"Bounty hunters?"
"We haven't mentioned those to you yet? Yes, bounty hunters. Loghain's put a nice little reward on all of our heads. You'll get one too, eventually, if you're lucky."
"Oh, joy, something more to look forward to."
They headed down to the library, where Wynne and Arren had said they'd be waiting for them – Wynne had wanted to do some research while she had the chance, and Arren was interested in seeing some books of Dalish lore that she'd mentioned the library contained. They were almost there when a couple of robe-clad figures came charging along the hallway toward them. Jowan came to an abrupt stop. Alistair paused, hand going to his sword hilt as he eyed the pair.
"Jowan!" the shorter of the pair cried out as they ran closer, a brilliant smile lighting her face. She was a tiny elf – tiny even for an elf – her hair cropped down to just a dark fuzz covering her scalp, face tattooed with a brilliant flame pattern nearly as rich a gold as the trim on her robes. The other, a tall, lanky human male with an improbably long mane of brownish-blond hair, had an equally wide smile on his face.
Not a threat after all, he decided, and released his sword hilt
"Mara! Owen!" Jowan choked out, before the two bowled into him, the three going into a complicated three-way hug.
"Oh, you idiot!" Mara suddenly exclaimed, and punched Jowan savagely in the ribs, making him go "oof!" as the blow drove the air out of his lungs. And then hugged him tightly again, Jowan and Owen exchanging a look that made it clear this was usual behaviour for the girl.
"I'm so glad to see you two," Jowan stammered. "After the way I'd run... and then later, hearing about what happened here... I didn't know if you were alive or dead, free or in Aeonar..."
Owen snorted, and reached out to lightly bounce his fist off the top of Jowan's head. "No better then we knew how you were," he pointed out.
"What happened!" Jowan pleaded.
"We should probably stop blocking the entire hallway," Alistair mildly pointed out. The three gave him a startled look, then Jowan grinned.
"Introductions," he said. "Alistair, these are Mara Surana and Owen Amell, the friends I told you about. Mara, Owen, this is Alistair."
They exchanged nods.
"Where should we go?" Mara said. "There's always mine or Owen's room..."
"We have a couple friends waiting for us in the library," Alistair said.
"Oh, that will do fine," Mara said, and turned and started back that way, hauling Jowan along by the hand. He laughed, and allowed her to drag him along, Owen and Alistair bringing up the rear.
They were soon all settled down in a quiet corner of the library, Owen slouched down on a bench, his back propped against the edge of a table behind him, Mara sitting cross-legged across his lap, heels neatly tucked up on his thigh. Jowan sat down beside Owen, and Alistair sat down beside him. Arren carried over a chair for Wynne, so she could sit facing the bench, then sunk down cross-legged on the carpet to her right, where he could see everyone.
"So what happened to you two?" Jowan asked again.
"Lots of things," Owen said.
"Well, you know Greagoir wanted to send us to Aeonar because of us destroying your phylactery, right?" Mara asked.
Jowan winced. "I... guessed he might do that. Didn't think of it until I was already too far away to come back and try to do anything useful about it," he added glumly.
"You always were piss-poor at thinking ahead," Owen said affectionately, the tone of voice and crooked smile on his face making the words friendlier than they seemed on the surface.
Jowan winced again. "I hope I'm getting better at it now. I've certainly had enough nasty lessons lately about looking before I leap."
"Anyway, that Lily came over all contrite about her role in your escape, and Greagoir decided to allow her to stay on here rather than sending her to Aeonar," Mara continued.
"And then he was all for locking us up in the cells in the basement until he could arrange for us to be sent to Aeonar," Owen said.
"But we were being contrite too – very contrite! – and much more believably then that Lily was," Mara picked up the tale again.
"Of course, we really were contrite," Owen pointed out, and gave Jowan a look. "Blood magic? What in the Black City were you thinking!" he asked, then raised his hand and lightly slapped the back of Jowan's head."
"Ow! Mara, tell him to stop beating on me," Jowan managed in a credibly whiny voice, then returned to his normal tones. "The problem was, I wasn't. Thinking, that is."
"I know, you were just reacting. And frightened. And stupid," Mara said, leaning forward and jabbing his arm sharply with her finger.
"Ow! Alistair, I may have to ask you to protect me from these two. They're vicious."
Alistair grinned. "I don't know, I think they're perfectly justified so far."
"Traitor!"
Alistair just grinned again, pleased to see Jowan so at ease with his old friends. And amused by the way his two friends tossed the storytelling effortlessly back and forth between them.
"Anyway, where were we," Mara began.
"Contrite."
"Yes, contrite. And Irving pointed out that locking us up in the dungeon and then sending us off to Aeonar for our part in your escape was hardly fair if Lily was getting off free when she was just as involved. Smacked of favouritism and so on. So he had him argued down to us being confined to the the mage quarters while our cases were considered."
"In other words, while he nagged at Greagoir to give up on the whole Aeonar idea," Owen interjected.
"Which was taking him a good long while. Which was okay, I was getting in lots of reading and studying and things."
"As was I."
"And then the whole thing with the blood mages started, and the tower pretty much went to the Black City in a handbasket within a couple of hours. Very nasty!"
"How'd you two survive?" Jowan asked.
"Luck. And Uldred made the mistake of underestimating Mara."
"Stupid big male shem," she said disparagingly. "I was out in the hallway when the whole thing blew up, and he and his blood mages came pouring down the hall with mayhem on their non-existent minds. He had a clear shot at me and ignored it in favour of going after some poor blighted apprentice who was bigger than me and male. So I blew a shield across the hallway between us – which didn't last long, but bought me a couple minutes anyway – and raised the alarm and ran like hell."
"Her shield and alarm saved quite a few people, gave us a chance to know what was going on before finding ourselves with a face full of maleficar."
"Forewarned is forearmed and all that. Anyway, Owen and I fought a rather brilliant retreat down the Tower, rounded up everyone we could who we were pretty sure wasn't a blood mage – not that hard to do, almost everyone who was one had a dripping hand by then – and holed up in those storage caverns down below. You remember, the ones where that silly woman with the spider phobia had you do her work in pest control for her."
"I figure we had at least a third of the harrowed mages and three quarters of the apprentices in there before we had to lock and shield the doors," Owen said, smiling proudly.
"And most of the tranquil, too – at least them we knew were safe," Mara continued. "And a whole pile of rather paranoid templars, just to round off the collection. And then we just holed up and did a lot of sitting around waiting for things to quiet down again. It wasn't very pleasant... we could feel that Uldred and his mages were doing things up in the tower somewhere. And every now and then they'd try to break through our shields, but we had more mages than they did, and the shields on the storage area are ages old and very strong."
"Got a bit interesting at one point," Owen said dryly.
"A few times," Mara corrected. "The worst was when a couple of blood mages who had ended up in with us tried to sneak over and open the doors. But we were prepared for them."
"Yeah, we'd put all those nice paranoid templars near the door and told them to feel free to drain and smite anyone who tried to approach them who wasn't us."
"We had to kill the blood mages, of course," Mara said quietly, and for a moment the chill in her voice and the look in her eyes showed that, for all her tiny charm, she could be just as cold-blooded as she needed to be. "None of us were willing to risk what they might do if they managed to break free. And then afterwards we still had to worry that there might be more of them in with us, or that some of us might be thralls."
"And then a couple days later we had templars knocking on the door. We were all very relieved to get out of there," Owen said, smiling.
"At least once they'd convinced us that they weren't puppets of Uldred. I was never so happy in my life to hear Greagoir's voice."
"And after that he could hardly send us off to Aeonar, not now that we're big heroes for our part in rescuing so many people." Owen finished.
"We can do no wrong, at least until they forget what superb heroes we were," Mara agreed, smiling cheerfully.
Jowan was smiling as he followed his companions down out of the tower. It had been good to see his friends again, to hear their story, to know that they were alive and still cared for him. He'd promised to write frequently, and let them know how he was doing, and to visit again when he could.
He glanced at Alistair, walking along beside him, and felt a surge of affection for the man. How much his life had changed since meeting him... and how much more it had changed in the last day. He could hold his head up and live without fear now. He was a mage, a harrowed mage, with a place in the circle. He raised his hand, lightly brushing his fingers against the pocket that held his copy of his authorization to travel abroad from the tower, as they walked out the door.
He stopped at the top of the path down to the dock, and just stood a moment, looking around, drinking in the sights and smells. This was where he belonged, where home truly was for him now. Not in the tower, though he was gladdened by the knowledge that he could return there any time he wanted to, would have a home there any time he needed it.
No... here, outside, under the endless vault of the empty blue sky, was home.
With Alistair.