Chapter 37: Fevered Dreams

Carver kept watch over the sleeping pair, his brown eyes lingering more on the blonde stranger than his unconscious brother.

Only a few candlelights ago, a sudden scream prompted him to barge into the room, followed by his mother and Bethany. Thinking that his brother was getting hurt by the healer, he had brought his smaller dirk with him as the room's size greatly limited his use of a two-handed sword that he usually carries.

What greeted him and the others greatly troubled them. The healer was grabbing at his head with both hands, his eyes tightly shut while Arren arched upwards in the poor, makeshift bed. They were surrounded by a purple haze and this time, Carver knew that he wasn't just seeing things.

Hovering above them was a large creature that had rarely been seen since the days of the fourth Blight.

"A Gryphon? But how?" Bethany whispered in awe.

As if aware of the intruders, the Gryphon turned to face them and there was another shriek before it disappeared altogether, leaving behind two unconscious men.

Bethany had rushed in then, unheeding of a possibility that the spirit or demon or whatever had shown itself to them could return at any moment, and Carver felt her spell come into existence. The air stirred with magical energies until she focused it on the two men that now lay motionlessly on the bed.

"Bethany?" It was his mother that asked the question, in a nervous tone.

"They're ok, just sleeping, but I've a feeling we're not supposed to separate them," Bethany concluded and her hand pointed to the purple aura that covered them both. Carver didn't know what to make of this and neither did their mother. Only Bethany felt immediate joy at this strange reunion for she knew that her brother had found someone at last. She could tell by the furtive glances they stole at each other before the Templar incident in Amaranthine that there was indeed a strong attraction between the two mages.

When Arren was awake and coherent, she'll have to talk to him about it.

Carver, on the other hand, was highly suspicious of the blonde mage's intent and it was the reason now why he guarded the pair so closely and with a wary eye. It's not that he didn't trust his brother. He didn't trust this blonde mage who they happened to stumble into on their way into Amaranthine. Stupid brother. It's his fault we're in this situation.

As if sensing his frustration, Arren shifted restlessly and made a noise of discontent, the brows furrowing in pain. Carver sit up in his seat and he bent over his brother, blue eyes fixed on his pale face. Arren gave no sign of waking up, however, and Carver sighed. He brushed back a couple of errant hairs from the pale forehead and then sat back on the rickety wooden stool. This was going to be a very long night.

-o0o-

"Cullen..." His charge whispered brokenly to him, his hands bound behind his back and there was blood dripping off the side of his face. The disheveled hair, the naked body would have undoubtedly aroused the named Templar were it not for the unique situation they were in. It was a different man this time and Cullen was even more shocked this time that it was one of their Knight-Captains who prowled around the mage like a predator awaiting to devour its prey.

"See, Cullen, mages aren't so powerful with their hands bound. They can only do so much until either they lose themselves to the demons or are strong willed enough to embrace even this type of humiliation."

The Knight-Captain leered at the bound mage and then shoved him backwards. Loren struggled uselessly, his screams tearing out of his throat. There was a tsking sound and the Knight-Captain backhanded the mage hard, causing his victim's head to snap back and strike the stoned ground. The sounds of pain halted and it brought Cullen out of shock. He watched the Knight-Captain unbuckle the clasps of his trousers and saw him lean forward.

No! It can't happen again! I won't let it! It felt as if someone was pulling out his sword, someone else walking forward and strike the Knight-Captain in the heart, where it was most corrupted. His superior emitted a surprised gasp, as if in disbelief that one of his own subordinates would dare attack him. He turned his head, to regard Cullen with shock before slumping forward unto the mage.

"Dear Maker! What the-? What happened?" Another voice cried out and Cullen's sword clattered unto the ground. It was one of the senior Enchanters, he forgot the name already, who had discovered this and the man scrambled forward, to put a shaking hand on Loren's neck. The newcomer didn't even flinch at the dead Templar that lay between the unconscious mage's legs. He merely took one glance at the man and shook his head ruefully.

"Please, ser Cullen," the Senior Enchanter asked, "help me get this off him." The male mage vainly tried to push the dead Knight-Captain off but the body was a dead weight and too heavy for a man who was kept in the Tower all his life. Cullen grabbed around the man's torso and pulled his former superior off, well aware that he was dead and that Loren was still. Did that strike hurt his head worse than he thought? He shoved the man aside rather roughly and a shaking hand reached out to cup the mage's cheek. The warmth of the soft skin beneath his hand eased the fear in his heart.

"Don't touch him! He may not...he may be averse to any human contact now..." The male mage grabbed his hand and pulled it away. "I must report this to First Enchanter Irving, but first let's tend to him."

That horrific scene faded before Cullen's eyes and again, he saw his charge standing before, a gentle smile gracing those handsome features. When had he fallen for this man? This is wrong! He shouldn't be feeling this way for a mage of all things! But, this ache inside his chest, of the thought that he may have to end this man's life if the Harrowing failed,clearly told him that his feelings for Loren were more than just of the friendly kind.

"Cullen." That soft, low voice beckoned him to look at its owner and already, Cullen found himself drowning in those emerald jewels. "Should I fail, I want you to..."

"No, I..." A slender finger quietened his protests and there was a soft peck on the cheek, causing Cullen to blush.

"I just want to say thank-you for being there. I know most Templars aren't like you and I..." the mage stopped and he looked away. Cullen missed looking into those green eyes and he cupped Loren's cheek in a gauntled hand, gently turning the mage back to him. "Well, I really appreciate it...more than I can say."

Loren walked even closer to Cullen and their lips were a mere breadth away from each other. "Maybe, after I come back, we can talk later?"

It was a hopeful promise, one that came true but was cut dreadfully short by the actions of Jowan...Jowan, the blood mage, Jowan the person responsible for having taken away his chance to know Loren as more than a mage...more like a lover.

"I'll see you soon, Cullen. Head for Redcliffe...I'll be here waiting..."

"Redcliffe...Loren...must...head to Redcliffe..." the Templar moaned in his sleep, tossing and turning in his makeshift cot. Wynne dabbed at his forehead with a damp cloth and she tsked at at the rising heat.

The elder mage had hoped that Cullen wouldn't catch a fever. However, considering the horrific ordeals her patient underwent, it came of no surprise that he would be thrashing around for two weeks straight. Nightmares like his certainly won't go away that fast and she became concerned that he might never recover from this. A templar was an evil necessity, Wynne believed, but a fearful Templar was not a good combination, especially when that said person was to be in constant company with mages.

The sound of heavy footsteps drew her attention away from where her thoughts were going. There, standing in the entrance of her tent, was the de factor leader of this ragtag group. He looked weary and she could see the dark circles underneath his eyes. Apparently, he wasn't sleeping well either.

Behind him stood another man, a handsome blonde. His features were uncharacteristically noble; the high cheekbones, the wide jaw and those piercing brown eyes. Compared to those of the Cousland, there were more laughing lines around the eyes and the lips. His posture was light and straightened, as if free of the secular burdens. She had noticed that he was hovering quite closely to Hadrian, invading personal space than what was proper.

The Cousland knelt across from her and his brows furrowed at the nonsensical litany of names. "How is he, Wynne? Has he been like this since we came back that night?"

He didn't have to explain to her which "night" it was. It was the night when he had finally succumbed to the Antivan poison coursing through his veins and nearly died as well. The next morning, the pair had come back, with no visible injuries and not even a hint of fever. When Wynne made a quiet inquiry to Leliana about this, the redhead merely shrugged her shoulders and replied, "perhaps the Maker healed them."

"Wynne?" Hadrian asked again, waiting patiently for her diagnosis.

"He'll get better, in time. However, Morrigan and I should be wary in our approach to him. Any sight of a mage would undoubtedly refreshen his memories and I worry that her particular mannerisms would either scare him off or commit him into doing something stupid."

"Really? That's too bad. I was hoping Morrigan would use him as a target for her jokes," Alistair said and he suddenly let out a soft yelp of pain. Hadrian glared at him and Alistair immediately looked chagrined. "It was a joke, alright."

"I think it best that I stay here until he awakens and is more coherent of his surrroundings," the older mage suggested and Hadrian's shoulders tensed. If Wynne wanted to stay, then they would be one short of a mage in his party of four companions. To make it worse, Morrigan wasn't much of healer, knowing only the basic healing and regeneration spells; sometimes, those hurt worse than the injuries. However, Hadrian truly didn't want to risk in the Templar turning wild in his group. Seeing a familiar face should ground him into reality.

"That's fine, Wynne," Hadrian said and he stood up, with Alistair following suit. "We're going to check up that fortress in the north."

"Fortress?" Wynne asked. She had never heard of this before.

"I talked to a Levi Dryden here a few days ago. He mentioned a Soldier's peak, a former Grey Warden stronghold. May have some answers or advice on our situation. We're going right about now in fact. In the meantime, stay here and watch over him. If he's Loren's friend, then he must be a good man to have."

Having said that, Hadrian promptly left the tent and Alistair was just about to step out when Wynne called out his name.

"Alistair, be sure to look out for him. He seems troubled and I fear that the poison didn't entirely leave his person."

The blonde Warden's lips pursed tightly but he gave no further elucidation on his thoughts. "Nothing will harm him," he said fiercely, almost growling at her.

"I know," Wynne replied in a placating tone. "Just be careful, please. I really can't afford to have another repeat of that night's incident."

Alistair nodded in agreement and he disappeared behind the flap, the footsteps fading away in time.

The elderly mage sighed and she set her hands on her charge. I'm getting too old for this...

-TBC-