A/N: Many apologies for the delayed update. School just started and a torn knee just came up as well. Very sad face. Anyhoo, many thanks to AElfric's Cat, my beta-reader, and to all those who have kept with the story so far. Cookies for those who left a little something behind i.e. reviews. For those are impatient for smut, check out the BLACK BOOK! Enjoy! Also, I may/may not have time to post replies for reviews in the chapter. So please don't be offended if later chappies don't have them!

Legend:

blah thought

/blah/ someone speaking from a past memory

blah telepathic speaking

20 Summers – 20 years

Candlelight – equivalent to one hour

Thanks: Biganimefan2; Aarik076; emtownzend; LannisterBlue-Eyed-Beast-of-Destiny; Noerani Sat;Daashifor placing this story on their faves

and: Agarwaenloth; Biganimefan2; JaenelleSe;ninvisemmbl;eItsADrizzit; VolunteerElf; Blue-Eyed-Beast-of-Destiny; AElfric's Cat; and Morwen for listing this story on their alerts page.

Chapter 34: Memories of the Past

Cullen opened his eyes and he found himself back in the Circle. The plain walls and marble doors with names etched on them told him that he was on the Apprentice Floor, third floor up in the Tower. It was early morning, around about the fifth hour to the Sun, and thus, Cullen wasn't surprised to no one walking about. What did catch his ear, though, were muffled moans coming from a room and some scuffling around. Cullen would have walked onwards, knowing that some mages had to seek physical comfort in the dark, away from the prying eyes of both Templar and mage alike. The moans were strained though, and a cry of pain emitted nearby followed by a snarl of something.

He approached the door from where the sounds originated and immediately, the sounds died. A suspicion rose in his mind and he turned to the hallway, giving them the impression that he was walking away. As soon as he went a few feet away, the strangled moans came back, followed by soft cries of 'Stop! Please! Someone!'

The cry was cut short by a loud slap and a thudding sound. Instantly, Cullen retreated back to the door and slammed it open, not even bothering to knock first. Unlike most of Templars, who would turn a blind eye to any sort of scuffling between a mage and a Templar, Cullen still believed in upholding every moral right and that respect goes a long way. Thus, to see a good friend of his ravishing a clearly unwilling participant made him absolutely livid.

"Cullen?" The Templar asked or rather confirmed the presence of another Templar. His friend continued thrusting wildly into the unfortunate person. Cullen could tell it was a mage by the smaller stature, the robes lying haphazardly on the floor, almost torn in half. "Want to have a go at him? He's really nice and tight."

There was a gasp, but Cullen was certain it wasn't one born of pleasure for the mage turned to stare at him. The expression of fear plastered on that pale face both shocked and angered the newcomer. Those frightened green eyes stared back at him fearfully and he cried out to Cullen, only to have his face shoved into the wall. There was a loud snap and the mage groaned in pain.

"Keep your eyes away from your betters!" The other Templar growled viciously at his victim and he picked that moment to thrust even more roughly into the body beneath him. "Well, Cullen?"

Cullen didn't give an answer. Instead, he walked away, the pleas for help still echoing in his mind. Those haunting emerald eyes that begged for his interference.

"Suit yourself," his friend grunted. "Perhaps next time, eh?"

Next time? Cullen stopped short and his fists clenched at his side. Next time? He acts as if he could get away with us! That thought infuriated him, as did those pained grunts and pleas for someone to help him.

He closed the door softly, letting it click loudly so that the other Templar could hear it. Apparently, his friend thought they were alone for he suddenly started talking to his victim in a sneering tone.

"See, even if you do call for help, no one cares for you mages. And you, Loren, you've been wanting this ever since you first arrived. Been begging for someone to take that piece of ass and now, you're mine. Not even Commander Greagoir will stop me from having you."

"No...no...Maker...please...anyone...urggh! No!" The mage still struggled in the templar's strong grip, but the hands still pinning down on his shoulder and head didn't move.

"Shut up, and just take it like a bitch you are!"

A scream that sounded throughout the room tore at Cullen's heart. Loren Amell? He remembered now. The name that so often haunted his dreams. That kind face with confident, intelligent eyes. Now, to see that face twisted in agony and horror as his body was forced to endure such a savage assault filled the Templar will an all-consuming rage.

Before he knew what he was doing, he grabbed the Templar by the shoulders and shoved him backwards. Cullen was wearing his full suit of armor while his now enemy wore only the greaves and a thick tunic, all the easier for targeting mages.

"What, what are you doing?" His enemy's eyes widened in disbelief when Cullen stepped in front of the mage, protecting him from his attacker. "You're actually protecting this piece of shit?"

"That is our sworn duty, Ser Isaac. Or did you forget that?"

"Open your eyes, Cullen! These mages don't need protecting! They need to be chained! It's why they're in the Tower in the first place! We're protecting society from them!"

"No," Cullen disagreed, still standing between Ser Isaac and the mage, who trembled against the wall. His arms wrapped around his torso and his knees were drawn up tight to his chest, as if trying to make himself as small and insignificant as possible.

Ser Isaac just shook his head, laughing as he got up and brushed the dirt off his tunic. Cullen's eyes narrowed at the devilish grin that stretched across his features and he feared what the Templar would say next.

"As if anyone's going to believe in this mage. Besides, I can always get another one to satisfy my craving. Even if you were to report me, the worst I'll get is suspension."

Ser Isaac threw a dirty look at the mage and winked at him. "I'll be seeing you," he promised darkly before turning to the door, not fully aware of Cullen marching up to him, a sword drawn out. Before he could open the latch, Cullen thrust his sword into the man who was once his friend. He couldn't even gasp out Cullen's name as a gauntlet hand covered his mouth.

Cullen whispered in his friend's ear, "not if you're dead."

"That's what you really wanted to do," a soft voice called out to him and Cullen sharply turned behind him, to see the mage standing before him. He was fully clothed now and there was no evidence of the dark-haired man being raped. "But, you were always the righteous one. Instead, you reported him and just like he said, the worst he got was suspension."

Anger simmered in those emerald eyes and Cullen stepped backwards, suddenly afraid of this man who had been shivering in fear just not too long ago. Those eyes turned kind though and the mage walked up to him, his head tilted up slightly.

"I had to leave," Loren whispered to him quietly, a hand cupping his left cheek. Cullen gasped at the electric feel of his thumb brushing underneath his eye, "for both our sakes. They would have you kill me and my death would serve as an example to all other rebellious mages."

"No, no, no! You should have stayed! If you'd stayed, none of this would have happened! Instead, you went with that bastard!"

"Jowan is not a bastard. He is a friend of mine, who's just unlucky."

"He is a maleficar! Just like...just like..." Cullen's voice hitched in his throat at the unwanted memories thrust upon him. The images of a forty-year old man with cruel, black eyes and an unnatural penchant for power.

"Like Uldred?" Loren finished for him. "No, Jowan is purer of heart than that monster. He did what anyone else would have done in a dire situation, to survive."

"Blood magic and consorting with demons? You'd-"

Loren stepped even closer to him, his hand raised towards the Templar. Cullen expected the young mage to punch him though and he flinched when hands pressed softly against his cheeks. He unwittingly released a soft moan when cool fingers brushed soothingly along his brows. The frown lines Cullen possessed eased away underneath the roving digits and he found them tracing his lips briefly before those hands cupped the back of his head. Blue eyes closed before snapping open when a pair of soft lips slanted on top of his before withdrawing.

"You know me," Loren whispered heatedly and Cullen shivered at the mage's hot breath blowing gently in his ear. That voice! How sinful it sounded, how it kept him awake for the past year since that horrible incident. With the way the mage carried himself, one would think it hadn't happened. However, Cullen felt that Loren only acted this way with his rescuer. He saw Loren's reflexive flinches whenever a Templar got too close. He felt the panic rising in that beautiful, slender form of the twenty year old mage.

"I've got to go now, Cullen," Loren said in an abrupt manner, breaking the heat of the moment. His hands let go of his face and already Cullen missed the reassuring warmth of his mage. Wait, my mage?

"Wait!" Cullen tried to grab that lovely hand but it simply fell through his own. He let out a cry of distraught when Loren began to disappear. The only thing he heard was a whisper of a name, of a place.

"Cullen...Cullen..." another voice was calling him. A voice not like Loren's at all. It was feminine and it lacked Loren's youthful tenor.

His eyes popped open and he burst from the bed, his hand still reaching out for the vanished dark-haired mage.

"Easy, young man. No harm will come to you here. Not without all these Grey Wardens about anyways."

"Grey...Wardens?" Cullen was confused by the term and his eyes blinked rapidly, trying to bring his surroundings into focus.

An older face greeted him, a small wane smile gracing her weathered features. Her pale grey eyes peered back at him in concern and she laid a cool a hand on his forehead.

There was a 'tsking' sound, as if she was a mother about to berate a child for standing out in the rain for too long. She withdrew her hand only to offer him a bowl of something, a dark liquid sloshing a little bit in its container.

"It's not poison, Cullen. I haven't earned my status as Senior Enchanter by poisoning the Templars."

The templar grimaced as he was chagrined at how easily she read his thoughts. He took the bowl in shaky hands, which were supported by her own.

"Grey Wardens?" Cullen asked again, finding his voice much firmer this time after that refreshing drink. Satisfied that he was done with it, Wynne took the bowl away from him and set it aside. She gently laid him back down onto the small blanket and tucked the tops around his shoulder before kneeling back.

With the candlelight flickering, the Templar could see the wrinkles on her face and the strained lines around her eyes. Whatever had happened, it must have been bad enough for even an experienced mage like her to look so tired, so exhausted and beat-down.

"Yes. Do you remember?"

Cullen closed his eyes and the only faces he saw were those of that lovely mage and that accursed monster. No! This...this could be a dream...another illusion!

/This is no dream, Cullen/ Loren said to him in comforting tones.

"Cullen?" The templar opened his eyes and he shook his head. He didn't really remember and he preferred it to stay that way.

"That's ok," she said calmly, almost motherly. She placed a small white cloth across his forehead and he sighed in relief, delighting in how cool it felt against his hot forehead. "Go and rest. Our two Wardens are still out but they should be back before the sun comes up."

"...Loren..." was all Cullen could say before his eyes drifted shut and he unwillingly entered the Fade, not knowing that Wynne was staring back at him, her mouth open in shock.

-o0o-

"You ok, Loren? You've been oddly quiet since we left camp." Fergus' voice sounded worried and the dark-haired mage was grateful that someone still cared for him, despite his heritage, his gift or curse. The mage's eyes were looking down at the ground for quite some time, finding amusement in the overturned stones, the little bugs that would scrawl away from them. Even the animals were afraid of him. At that question, Loren glanced upwards and towards the sun-kissed face of the Cousland.

Fergus' face appeared stronger now. Bruises no longer coloured his cheeks and those dark-brown eyes shone with life, unlike their dullness from a few days ago. The outward physical appearance, overall, had improved vastly since the bandits' ambush. Thanks to me, Loren thought. He wondered what would have happened if he hadn't found the oldest Cousland. Possible scenarios zipped in his mind. Fergus dead, stabbed by lowly scavengers. Fergus kidnapped and possibly used as a means of entertainment. Rough men like to break those who were like Fergus, who was firm, handsome, and noble. Loren shuddered at that thought, at the image of someone violating his closest friend just to slake his thirst. Yes, he knew all about that.

"Loren? You're glowing again," Fergus quipped lightly and Loren flinched reflexively when a hand clamped down on his shoulder. "Easy there! It's just me, just Fergus here."

"I am sorry," Loren apologized, his voice thick and raw from lack of sleep. Fergus realized that perhaps touching Loren on the shoulder was not a good idea. He let go of the mage and his hand fell limply at his side.

"Didn't get any sleep last night?" Fergus asked in a careful tone, not wanting to rile up the mage. He had woken up several times to hear the mage mumbling incoherently and him thrashing around in his blankets. There was a point where Loren actually screamed and it set Fergus on edge immediately. The scream had been horrifying in its desperation, something he would definitely not pin on a strong-willed mage like Loren.

"No," Loren shook his head tiredly. The mage raised a slender hand to rub his face and already Fergus could see dark circles growing underneath those weary eyes. The emerald orbs lacked their usual luster, and the man could tell that the mage was worried about something – or, rather, someone.

He had heard Loren's soft calls of "Cullen" several times and Fergus thanked the Maker that someone was there to stop the violation from continuing. If he ever saw this Templar in person, he would personally have to thank him for being with his friend on that day and from that point on as well.

"Well, looks like we're here and someone is already accosting us with weapons drawn," Loren's quiet murmur brought Fergus out of his contemplation.

As Loren had just observed now, Fergus saw that there was indeed a man approaching them from the other end of the bridge they had just crossed. He bore the shield of Redcliffe, a symbol of a castle etched into the background of red and white semicircles. His sword was unsheathed but the man walked almost belligerently up to them, his shoulders stiff and his face set in a grim, stern expression.

"State your business, quickly."

"Apparently guards are extremely lacking in manners these days," Loren said in a sarcastic tone. Fergus glared at him briefly before turning to the soldier, who did not appear amused.

"What is this mage doing with you? Are you a templar?" The guard's eyes flickered back and forth between the two nervously. His hand edged its way closer and closer to the sword hilt.

"I am Fergus Cousland and this is Loren Amell. Our business is our own." Fergus answered the soldier's question coolly. While he understood the soldier's need for terseness, it did not excuse the belligerent and rude attitude towards a noble.

"Cousland? Nice try. Lord Fergus Cousland has been sent to Ostagar, though, little news of the battle has reached us."

The guard's hand went up in the air, closed in a tight fist. It was a signal of sorts as the pair of men suddenly found themselves surrounded by Eamon's Knights. Their armor was darker and made of high quality steel. One of them, a burly blonde with light blue eyes, stalked up to the tall Cousland and his eyes widened in horror at the sight of the only surviving Cousland before darting back to the guard.

"What's the meaning of this, Ser Knight? Is this some sort of joke?" The blonde towered over the pale guard, who gulped nervously.

"He could be an imposter, Ser. I thought..."

"You didn't think, you imbecile. Elric, take his place for guard duty."

"Yes, ser!" A young man, no older than twenty summers, hastily ran up to take the incumbent's place. The blonde muttered a curse before turning his attention to the two men. He bowed from his waist, a hand braced diagonally across his breastplate.

"My sincerest apologies, your Grace." The man's eyes glued to the rocky ground and his face flushed with embarrassment at his guards' failure to recognize a Cousland.

"Yevin? Maker's blessings, it is you! What happened here? I thought Arl Eamon was supposed to be at Ostagar!"

The smile was gone from Yevin's face and the blonde grimaced. "Things are a mystery here. Come with us, your Grace, and your friend too. He comes as well. Don't want Templars landing on our doorstep and screwing things up too."

"Templars? I thought you were the religious type." Fergus said. The guards formed a protective circle around the two as they escorted them down the rusty-looking hillside and to the Chantry.

"I was until they literally came home and took my sister away," Yevin whispered. A lay sister was watching them with careful eyes and, more wary ears. He cleared his throat, signaling to Fergus that it was time to move on with a different topic. Fergus nodded his head in response and he wordlessly followed the leading Captain into the chantry. He was all too aware of the burning gaze of his friend; however, he trusted Loren enough to not do anything drastic, like running away to rescue his friend Jowan, at least long enough for them to be out of Redcliffe Castle. How wrong he was indeed.

-o0o-

Arren had seen death before. His father was the very first and the fires that took his life still reigned indelibly in Arren's mind. Run, son! Run and don't look back! The hoarse words spoken to him were all Arren really remembered of him now. Death had never been kind in holding back. It was gruesome and quick, merciless and undiscriminating. In this case, it proved too true, too real, and for once, he intended to be its harbringer.

It had only been a few candlelights since Anders' departure for his phylactery. /Whatever you do, don't come after me/ Damn that man! After going through all the trouble of saving him, the blonde dared to command him that? To just abandon him in this crime-infested city?

Anders made him promise to not come after him but a feeling of wrongness gnawed at his stomach, at his nerves until finally he had enough of the waiting. He had hoped to sneak out of the room he and his family managed to procure for two nights. He really should have known better though and his head shook ruefully at his siblings who were waiting for him at the door. They were already dressed for battle: Carver attired in his silver chainmail armor and Bethany wore her mage robes. They both had their weapons slung over their shoulders.

"You really didn't think to try sneak past us, hmm?" Carver's voice was almost biting in tone, but with the worried frown scowling his handsome features, Arren knew that his little brother was truly concerned about him. "Good thing you're not a rogue. You'd be dead by now, with your not so subtle movements."

"Carver, don't you think that's a little rude? He's trying to save his friend without involving us." Bethany patronized her twin sibling. She then turned her face to regard the mage. "We're coming with you. No 'ifs,' 'ands', or 'buts'."

Her tone was final and indicated that her mind was set. Arren just sighed heavily at his siblings' stubborness. At least this way, he wouldn't have to worry about templars taking away his sister. He had seen a few of them patrolling the area near the Chantry and they had often gazed at him and his family a lot longer than what was polite.

"What about mother?" Arren asked his younger brother as he approached the door and opened it.

"She's sleeping." Carver replied. "I didn't want to her to worry about us."

"Let's just get this over with. Hopefully, Anders is still alive when we rescue him," Arren said to his siblings. The door to their room shut softly behind them as the trio walked down the stairs of the Lion's Head tavern. Ignoring the watchful eyes of the customers, they all marched out into the open air of the city.

Cool night air wafted into the room, bringing with it the stench of horses, armour, and excrements. Arren still had no idea why Amaranthine was considered the "Jewel" of Ferelden when it stank so much that it nauseated him.

Half of a candlelight though, when he espied on a pair of Templars guarding an innocent-looking warehouse, fear overwhelmed that nauseous feeling and it made his stomach churn uncomfortably.

"Keep moving along," the guard on the left groused at him. His face was hidden behind the visor but the Hawkes could clearly see the guarded look in those black eyes that peered at them suspiciously.

"Hey, you three look familiar," the guard's partner quipped, his hand already wrapped around the sword's hilt. "You two." A finger was pointed in Arren's and Bethany's directions. "You're mages. Might you be sent by the Circle of Magi? If so, where are your handlers?"

"Handlers?"Bethany whispered to Arren. Unfortunately, the guard caught on to that question and he raised his hand in the air. The trio thought he was going to alert every Templar in that area but familiar words drifted to them.

"By Maker's hand, let their gifts flow away like water ebbing into the seas of nothingness."

"Carver! He's summoning the anti-magic field!" Arren shouted, his staff already out and spitting blue spheres of energy at the other guard.

"On it!" Carver rushed at the guard and bowled over him, knocking him back to the ground and

thus disrupting the incantation.

Pleased to see his brother taking care of that guard, he reverted his attention back to the first guard that had spoken to him. He was unmoving and Arren's eyes shifted to the glowing blue sigil on the ground before darting to his sister. A smile of thanks brightened the older mage's worried face.

After spending only a few moments dispatching the guards, Arren stood in front of the door and froze at a scream of agony that echoed from within. He could hear a shrill voice cackling in a delightful glee, the words of "Enchanted" and "blood mage" being the most prominent out of their conversation.

/My son, there's a reason why I left Kirkwall. The Templars esteemed themselves as judge, jury, and exceutioner. Death is a mercy for us mages. The worst punishment is to be enchanted, to be forever emotionless, to have your dreams be taken away from you and you wouldn't know any better. /

His father's voice whispered to him from the depths of his consciousness. He tried to force the door open with his body but it wouldn't budge at all. Either it was magically sealed from the inside or he just simply wasn't strong enough.

"Move, brother," Carver shouted and Arren moved away. His younger brother forcefully kicked the door open, revealing a most horrifying scene to both Arren and Bethany.

Anders hung limply between the two templars, his arms stretched out away from him. Blood dripped from the right side of his head, the blond strands sticking to his forehead. Even from their position, the Hawkes could clearly see the sign of the Maker's eye drawn into the seemingly unconscious mage's forehead.

A tall red-haired woman stared at them credulously, as if she couldn't believe that someone had dared to interrupt her in her rightful proceedings. Arren noticed that she held something tightly in her gauntled fist, a vial with crimson liquid swirling inside. However, that was the least of his worries.

The sight of his friend being forced into a kneeling position by two Templars enraged him and something simmered underneath his skin. The power tingled along his nerves and it seemed to gather right at his fingertips.

While he had never seen it done, his father's stories provided him enough information for him to deduce that his new friend was now caught in such a situation. /The Chant of Enlightenment. It is an irreversible curse, easily abused by the Templars. Once a mage loses his Maker-given gifts, he loses a part of his soul./ He only met this blonde mage a week ago and yet it seemed like a lifetime to him.

His father's words were harshly echoed by that hated Chant. Arren felt something tingle along his spine and into his limbs, until his hands throbbed almost painfully. Power exploded then from Arren's fingers and dark, purple light enveloped all of them, except for him and Anders. Screams punctuated the dark area followed by a woman screeching out orders. Metal rang out and there were sounds of scuffling, of people roaming aimlessly in the dark, trying to discern the locations of their allies.

"Rylock! Ser Rylock!" A young, scared voice cried out. His cry was easily swallowed by other groans and screams. The Knight-Commander Rylock shouted out to her men and the purple light was pushed back with its white counterpart. The area sizzled and hissed around them as the anti-magic spell tried to neutralize its magical counterpart. It was too late though for by the time they cast it, Arren had already retrieved his friend out of there. He shoved Anders unceremoniously behind him, into the middle of a protective circle his family had made around them.

"Arren? We really need to get out of here! There are more Templars than of us!" His sister shouted out as she attempted to put up a shield but ultimately failing due to the anti-magic field.

"Anders?" Bethany's eyes flickered quickly over to Anders' unmoving form before darting back to the Templars in front of her. The enraged female commander stalked towards them, the intent to kill shining in her black eyes. The oldest Hawke shivered at those beady eyes locked unto his. She doesn't really intend to let us escape! Not alive!

To support her reasoning, Ser Rylock drew her sword and pointed the business end of it at them. "Kill them! They are apostates! Do not let them escape!"

"Get down, Bethany!" Carver shouted, plunging his Greatsword into the stomach of an oncoming templar. She grimaced at how blood splashed unto her and at the sight of that confused youthful face. It was the same one who was calling out to Commander Rylock. The youth's mouth gaped open, as if to let out a scream of pain. Instead, he merely stepped backwards, clutching at his stomach.

"I'm...s-sorry..." came a pained whisper and he fell backwards, his sword clattering loudly against the stone floor. Bethany's face paled even more at the apology and she stumbled forward. However, Arren knew that the youth was dead. The pool of blood that spilled out from the still body was still growing. Pale, shaking hands turned him over and tears came unbidden in his sister's eyes as the youth's head lolled lifelessly into her arms.

"Bethany! Bethany! Snap out of it! We've got to get out of here!" Carver shook her on the shoulder, his hand urging her to her feet. Suddenly, the exigency of the situation was thrust upon her and she hastily climbed to her feet. If Carver was shocked at the sudden steely determination in her eyes, he didn't say anything to indicate so. Instead, he quickly swept his sword out in front of him. An agonised scream coming from his defeated enemy pierced the air before finally trailing off into a weak gurgle and then silence followed.

-o0o-

It was the silence that roused Ander out of his stupor and realize that the hands which were manhandling him did not belong to his friends. The twins were too busy to fend themselves off from the Templars attack to notice that he had been taken again. Fortunately though, the blonde mage had regained enough of his senses to start fighting back, using every dirty trick he knew of. A bite here. A low blow in the groin there. It was enough to gain some time for Arren to rescue the trio and Anders shivered at the raw power exuding from the handsome mage's body.

The blonde mage saw that Arren had already put down five Templars by himself, even with present of the white cloud smoking around him, hissing as it tried to smother the magical energies of the mages present. Apparently, he was not fully dependent on magic. It was evident by his fluid movements that he had learned how to fight with just his hands and feet. Another Templar had struck for him from behind and Anders was startled to see how fast the mage had simply ducked underneath the incoming blow and then kicked the legs out from underneath him. The Templar gave a breathless gasp upon landing hard on the floor and then suddenly clutching helplessly at a sword plunged through his shoulder. Anders blinked rapidly. How did he do that so fast? It's as if he doesn't even need magic to defend himself!

"Fucking mages!" Ser Rylock spat and Anders let out a blood-curdling scream of 'No!' when her shield knocked Arren's slender form down from behind. It seemed as if all the power had gone from him for he stumbled forward before grasping at his side, blood spurting quickly from his right hand.

When Anders saw the tip of the Commander's sword thrusting out from Arren's stomach, something broke inside the blonde mage. No! Not again! I won't allow it! I won't have someone get killed because of me!

Rage boiled within his heart heart and there was a hoarse yell of the downed mage's name. It didn't come from him but from the approaching brunette, who was closely followed by another one. The Hawke twins...coming to their brother's aide...

Ser Rylock laughed, her voice rasping horribly in their ears. It was unpleasant, like sandpaper grating against the grain of wood. She withdrew the sword and Arren fell to his knees, gasping in agony as he held his hand against the bleeding wound.

"Now, you die, mage!" She cackled as she raised her sword back. The sword was thrust forward again but as it came down on the motionless figure, it turned to ash. The sword crumbled into dust and she let out a scream of frustration, of being denied something.

"Arren! Arren!" Bethany called out to her brother and she reached out to the slumped form, gathering him in her arms. Carver stood over them, his sword out ready to defend his siblings, ready to give his life for them.

"Don't touch him!" Anders growled dangerously and did not flinch when Rylock's eyes attempted to pin him with a stoney glare. Only minutes ago, he was kneeling before her, his head held in supplication, with blood dripping down the side of that mocking face. Now, now, he was standing straight and his body glowed hotly with power. Tendrils of lightning caressed his body and he heard Rylock gasp when he no longer appeared weak and powerless before her. Those eyes were no longer soft and weak. They were as hard as diamonds, tinged a dark red with anger.

"An abomination!" She hissed at the mage and her hand quickly darted inside. Anders didn't give her a chance to throw the hidden dagger by sending out a lightning bolt at her hand. Her dagger fell uselessly out of numb fingers and she snarled at how quickly the mage seemed to anticipate her move.

"I am not an abomination," the thing posing as Anders said in a deep voice, "and you, you are gone."

Rylock wasn't even allowed to scream and, before the Hawkes could do anything, the Knight-Commander's body burst into blue flames, which licked hungrily at the writhing organic mass until there was nothing left. Satisfied that this hateful enemy, this woman had been dogging his footsteps for most of his life, he reared his head back and loosed a screech of triumph. His eyes had closed and the mage failed to see Carver grimace and to see Bethany's face blanch at that awful sound.

"Bethany! This man is dangerous! We need to get mother and get out of here!" Anders heard Carver urged his sister upwards, all the while juggling his brother's limp form into his arms.

"No! Can't you see, Carver? He saved us!" Bethany argued in defense of him, but still clambering to her feet. Her robes were wet at the bottom and the trio realized with a sickening thought that her clothes were slick with blood. Arren's blood.

"Saved us? He just killed that woman! As if she was nothing!" Carver shouted back, finally able to sling Arren's shoulder over his.

"No! He just killed her! The other templars, the ones we only knocked unconscious are still alive!"

True to her words, the seven other templars were lying motionless on the floor, in various positions but still groaning-and thus, still alive. Not dead like that crazed Commander.

He set his lips into a thin smile at his sister's observation. Anders, for his part, hadn't moved from his spot. However, his eyes reverted back to their normal, honeyed brown tones.

"Wha? What happened? Arren! Is he?" He strove forward and was stopped by Carver's sword pointed at his chest.

"Carver! What are you doing?" Bethany shouted angrily at her brother. She tried to push down on Carver's hand but Carver refused to budge.

"You see? He can't even control himself! He's dangerous, Bethany! Like all mages!"

"Then you'll have to kill us too, when we're gone mad," Bethany said quietly. Her soft reply took Carver aback. He was too astonished to say something in return, too stunned by her easy proclamation of her death at his hands. Would he have done the same like Rylock? Could he strike down a crazed mage? Someone who was his own flesh and blood? No, you would find another way to save them...they're all you have left.

He nodded and pointed his sword downwards before finally sheathing in its scabbard.

"Let's just get out of here," Carver grunted as he hefted his brother over his shoulders. Arren gave a soft moan of pain at the abrupt movement. Carver mumbled a quiet apology to the elder Hawke while Bethany made sure he was comfortable for the time being. "You, you're coming with us."

Anders heard the sharp command but as if from a distance. His eyes were fixed on the spot where Rylock had been. Anders knelt down and reached out for the broken piece of glass, the only remnant of Rylock's existence. He remembered her taunting him with his own phylactery, waving it in front of his face before shoving it underneath her breastplate. Now, now it was gone. He was finally free, free from the Circle, from the Templars, and from the Chantry. A heavy weight was finally lifted from his shoulders and he felt lighter.

"Anders," Bethany whispered to him, a hand gently taking his elbow and pulling him back. "Arren, he's hurt, badly. You're the only healer in our group." He needs you... was the unspoken plea and it helped the healer anchor himself to this world. He stood up albeit shakily before following the departing Hawkes. All they left in their wake were seven unconscious Templars with five dead ones.

Somehow his friends' mother had known trouble was brewing and had already packed several bags, waiting for them at the Lion's Head Pub. It was late at night and respectful citizens of Amaranthine were already in bed, sleeping, unaware of the trio hastily returning to the pub and then stumbling to the port, an injured man still slung over another one's shoulder. Along the way, Anders saw that some Templars were massing right outside the Chantry, ready to inspect the unruly scene of four people running about at an ungodly candlelight. He hoped that they could board on a ship in time.

"Ser! Please! You have to let us on!" He heard Leandra plea with a scruffy looking captain, whose single eye raked over the group suspiciously.

"Humph. I've barely just enough to fit me lads on 'ere. Who's gonna pay up?"

"Look," Carver strode up to the captain, the added weight not seeming to bother him at all. "Either we go on this ship or you'll have the authorities running after you."

"You don't intimidate me, lad. But, I like that hard look in yer eye. Rare to find someone so passionate 'but somethin'. Alrighty then, come aboard. Yer lucky the ship stayed for another minute or so. Headin' out to Kirkwall seein' as we also outstayed our welcome."

"Kirkwall? We're really going to Kirkwall?" Anders asked Bethany. She turned her head at the question, a perplexed look at his question. "Yes, it's the only place we have left. Mother said we still have relatives there. Perhaps, we can settle there. Maybe not. But it's still a place to call home."

Home? I haven't called a place home in years...not since...Anders shook his head ruefully at that depressing memory, of being taken from his parents by the Templars. No matter where you went, there was no such thing as 'home' for a mage, especially an apostate. As he boarded the large ship and settled comfortably in the cargo bay below the deck, he gazed down at the still body of Arren, his hands gently roving over the old wounds. Arren groaned, his body shifting restlessly underneath his healing hands.

"...Anders..." the dark-haired mage moaned weakly, his eyes fluttering open to reveal water golden depths.

"Sshh. We're going to Kirkwall," Anders replied soothingly, his hand stroking back the errant hair from his forehead.

"...home?..."

"Yes," Anders said. "We're going home..."

The answer must have been satisfactory for the mage gifted him a weak, but genuine smile before slipping back into sleep, lulled by Anders' melodic voice and gentle hands.

-o0o-

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