Disclaimer: I do not own Bioware, nor Dragon Age, nor any of Dragon Age's characters save for Yllia's first name and personality.

Author's Notes: At last another chapter! As stated on my profile, I've been on a semi-hiatus for the last few weeks, working on a novel submission package and trying to deal with health problems. I'm almost done with the brunt of the submission package, so hopefully it won't be another three weeks before the next chapter sees daylight. Please forgive me for the long wait! And thanks as usual to my beta Teakwood for setting aside a horde of backlog in order to help me through this chapter so that I could get it out today. ^^; And I want to thank everyone who's been reading and reviewing - I really enjoy hearing the opinions of my readers, good or bad.

Arcanum Fatum
Chapter Nine: Before the Storm

*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*

"Have you ever wondered what it's like out there?"

The casual question made Yllia look up from the large tome she had her nose buried into, looking at the blonde apprentice lounging next to her with curiosity. "Out there?" she echoed. "You mean outside of the Tower?"

He nodded, leaning back in his chair so that he could prop his feet up on the table. "Right," he said. "Outside the Tower, beyond Lake Calenhad. We've seen the maps – Thedas is huge, and yet most of us here never get the chance to see it." He sounded wistful. "I remember it from before I was brought here. What about you?"

She nibbled her lower lip delicately. "I…don't know," she haltingly replied. "I was young when I came here, I don't really…"

"Oh, right – you were only four, weren't you?" He gave her a sympathetic look. "Sometimes I forget that you've been here longer than I have, even though you're younger than me."

The look in his eyes brought a light blush to her cheeks, and she quickly averted her gaze, looking back at the words.

"What about you, Jowan?" The blonde turned to the dark-haired boy sitting across from him. "Do you remember life outside the Circle?"

Jowan responded with a slight shudder. The two boys were the same age, but he didn't have nearly the confidence that their cheerful friend exuded. "N-nothing I want to remember," Jowan stammered. Yllia felt a rush of sympathy for him, wondering if Jowan would ever be free of the stutter that cropped up whenever he was nervous. "I c-couldn't wait to come to the C-circle."

The other apprentice huffed in distaste. "Well, I, for one, can't wait to leave," he grumbled. "Just you wait and see. I'm going to pass my Harrowing, and then I'm going to find a way out of here."

Yllia looked up from her book and stared at him. "Like you did the last time?" she asked. "They just brought you back, didn't they?"

"That doesn't mean I have to stop trying," the blonde said with a shake of his head. He swung his legs down and turned towards him, giving her a charming smile that made her heart flutter. "You should come with me."

"Wh-what?" Her eyes widened, and then she shook her head emphatically, nearly smacking herself with her hair. "No – I couldn't. I'm nowhere near ready for my Harrowing, and it's dangerous out there for mages, everyone knows that!"

"That's what they want you to think," her friend said, a touch of venom in his words. "But I lived out there as a mage for years before they caught me. The only reason it's dangerous for mages is because they've made it dangerous. They've got the rest of the world so convinced that we're the enemy that people cower in fear of us even when we haven't done anything – and yet they're quick and eager for us to do their bidding when they have need of magic. We're like their…their trained pets."

He put his hand on her arm and looked at her imploringly. "Come with me, Yllia. You don't belong here anymore than I do."

"No!" Jowan jumped to his feet suddenly, slamming his hands onto the table and looking at them. Yllia's throat tightened – Jowan looked older, more panicked, and fiercer than she could ever remember him looking. "I won't let you touch her!" Blood began to spread out from his heads, coating his skin, spilling over the edge of the table until it began to cover everything. Yllia leapt back from the table and covered her ears with her hands and opened her mouth to scream…

"Yllia!"

Yllia's eyes snapped open wide. She twisted on her bedroll, lashing out at whatever it was that had her by the shoulders. Her hand connected with something hard, followed by a very unmanly yelp, and she sat up in a rush. The light shift she wore for sleep clung to her body with sweat, her unbound hair sticking out every which way as her eyes fell on her attacker.

"….Alistair?"

The warrior in question was kneeling near the front of her tent, one hand cupping his eye while the other glowered at her. "Ow," he said pointedly. "This is the thanks I get for trying to wake you up? I thought it was rogues you had to watch out for, not mages."

Yllia stared at him uncomprehendingly. "Alistair?" she repeated. "What are you doing in here?"

"Well, I thought I was helping you, but from the right hook you just delivered to my skull I'm starting to think otherwise." He rubbed his eye, and then pulled his hand away. "Fortunately you hit like a girl."

"…And why haven't I thrown you out of my tent yet?"

He held up his hands in surrender. "I was on watch and I could hear into your tent," he said. "It sounded like you were having a nightmare, so I thought I'd try to wake you up. I wasn't expecting you to up and punch me for it, though."

Heat rose in Yllia's cheeks, and she looked down at her hands. The knuckles of one of them were red from the strike. "…oh," she said. "Sorry about that. I have this…thing about being grabbed. I don't like it."

"I'll make a note of that."

Then he paused as another voice wafted through the closed tent flap. "Is everything okay in there?" Leliana's soprano lilt came through. "I heard a shout."

Yllia cleared her throat. "Everything's fine, Leliana," she called back. "Nothing to worry about."

"All right. I'll take over the watch for you, Alistair." There seemed to be a touch of amusement to her words, which Yllia chose not to read too much into.

"Uh, thanks," Alistair called to her, and then looked at Yllia questioning. "Unless you'd rather I go finish my shift…?"

She brushed her hair back and shook her head. "It's okay," she said softly. "You can stay. I'm sorry I hit you."

Now Alistair paused and gave his fellow Warden a searching look. "Was it the darkspawn?"

"No," Yllia replied, smiling slightly at the fact that Alistair had apparently picked up on her troubled state. "It was…an older dream. Or nightmare, if you want to call it that. Memories mixing in my head. I tend to recall them rather vividly, even after I wake up."

Alistair folded his long legs under him, sitting cross-legged next to her bedroll. "Do you want to talk about it?"

She laughed, the sound harsh even to her own ears. "I'm sure there are other things more interesting than the nightmares of a mage," she said with just a touch of cynicism. She opened her mouth to brush off the topic completely when she felt the heavy warmth of his hand on her bare arm. Gooseflesh rippled its way up her skin and she turned her head to stare into anxious, attentive hazel eyes.

"Talk to me," Alistair urged. "If you think it will help, I'll listen."

Oh, why did he have to look so sincere, so genuinely interested in being her sounding board? She hadn't had anyone like that since she'd left the Circle, and she'd been determined to not need it. She was a fully Harrowed mage, for Maker's sake, not a fledgling apprentice. She should be able to handle a few nightmares.

But Alistair's assiduous concern was pushing down her walls faster than she could rebuild them, and she reluctantly admitted her defeat.

"Did Duncan ever tell you how he ended up conscripting me?" she asked, drawing her knees up to her chest, clasping her arms around them.

Alistair shook his head. "Duncan always left it up to the recruit to explain how they came to join the Grey Wardens," he said. "He never offered anyone's story without their permission. All I know for sure is that the two of you met at the Circle of Magi."

Yllia nodded, worrying her lower lip with her teeth as she stared at a fixed point before her, running words through her head as she tried to find the right way to begin. "When I met Duncan," she said finally, "I was a freshly Harrowed mage, just barely out of my apprenticeship. Do you know what the Harrowing is? Wait – of course you do, you trained as a templar. I was intrigued when I found out that Duncan was a Grey Warden, naturally. You hear stories of the Wardens, read their legends in tomes, but I'd never imagined getting the opportunity to meet one.

"I don't know if Duncan intended to conscript me into the Wardens at that point or not – our meeting was brief, and there were a lot of things on my mind. Being a mage now meant that I had an entirely new living situation to adjust to, as well as new responsibilities and new training." She smiled, a slight curving of her lips. "I was especially looking forward to the training. I'd just discovered a new tome on Primal magic the night before, see, and I was eager to see if they'd let me experiment…but you're not really interested in that, are you?"

Alistair grinned, noting the way her eyes had brightened briefly as she'd rambled about magic. "It's okay," he encouraged. "Go on."

"At any rate, I didn't get a chance to actually reach my new quarters. After leaving Duncan, a friend of mine waylaid me, pulling me aside to talk to me." Yllia paused for a moment, hugging her knees a bit more tightly. She wondered how much of this she should really be telling Alistair – but then, it wasn't as if it actually mattered, was it? The damage was already done. She couldn't go back and change the past.

That was starting to become the mantra of her life.

"I had very few friends in the Circle," she said softly. "Mages don't have the same sort of prejudices towards elves that the outside world seems to, but there aren't many of us within the confines of the Circle, and it does set us apart. And I was younger than most when I was first brought in, which made connecting with the other children difficult."

"How much younger?" Alistair interrupted.

Yllia blinked. Then she frowned slightly. "I think I was…four? My power manifested…early. It happens occasionally, in rare cases."

He tilted his head to one side, regarding her with curiosity. "So you were a prodigy?" he asked.

The word drew an unexpected laugh from her, starling him, and she held up her hand in apology as she got mirth under control. "Prodigy, me? Oh, Maker, no. Just an early start, but I can assure you, I was no more advanced than any of the other apprentices. I didn't grow by leaps and bounds, I learned at the same rate they did – I just did it, age-wise, two years earlier. But it's not like they Harrowed me earlier than anyone else. In fact, I got to watch most of my year-mates get Harrowed before me. Well, not watched but…" Her voice trailed off, and for a moment she looked uncomfortable.

"Yeah." Alistair gave a slight nod. "I know."

There were times when Yllia forgot about Alistair's templar training entirely – and then there were moments like these when she was glad for it, because it kept her from having to explain bits and pieces about the life of a mage that mundane people couldn't understand. And she couldn't help but feel a flutter of quiet joy whenever it became clear that Alistair disagreed with some of the templar and Circle practices as much as she did.

She offered him a smile that he returned, and then continued. "But back on topic. As I said, I was younger than most of the other apprentices, but that didn't stop me from making a couple of friends. One of them was an apprentice a few years older than me – his powers had manifested later than most, so he was almost as new to the Circle as I was." For a moment the image of the earnest, friendly dark-haired boy of those childhood years came to mind, and her eyes went suspiciously blurry. "His name was Jowan, and he became my best friend."

Alistair gave Yllia a searching look, attempting to be more discreet about it than he actually succeeded at. "Just a…friend?" he asked with feigned innocence.

The question brought heat to her cheeks, and she laughed. "Just a friend," she said firmly. "I can safely say I never thought of Jowan that way. He's the closest thing I've ever had to a brother. That would just be…strange."

He laughed then, shoving his hand through his hair as he was wont to do when nervous at times. "Right," he said. "I was just, you know, curious. Not prying or anything. I wouldn't do that. So. Friend. Right. Go on?"

She looked at him with amusement, though she grew sober the moment she began to speak again. "Skip ahead about, oh, fourteen years," she said softly. "Present day. It took me a few days to wake up after passing out from my Harrowing, and to say I was disoriented when I did would be a huge understatement. I think I was heading for a meeting with the First Enchanter when I saw Jowan. He was…fidgeting. Anxious. He congratulated me on passing my Harrowing but…I could tell that something wasn't right. I couldn't stay and talk, I had to see Irving, but Jowan insisted that we talk later. I agreed. He was my best friend – why wouldn't I agree?"

If she hadn't agreed, how different would her life be right now? Would she still be a Grey Warden, or would she be a mage trapped? And what of Jowan? For a moment her composure shook, and she took a moment to blink her eyes clear. Alistair was listening quietly, expectantly – her breaking down before she even got to the reason wouldn't go over very well.

"So after I met with the First Enchanter – that was the first time I met Duncan, too – I went to find Jowan. Only he wound up finding me first, and he was even more of a nervous wreck than he'd been before I'd gone to see Irving. I knew right away that there was going to be trouble. And I was right."

She was barely aware of herself as she continued talking, the words tumbling out of her mouth as she told Alistair of the following events. Of the introduction to Lily, the Chantry sister that Jowan had been secretly involved with, even keeping the relationship from her. Of his revelation that he had discovered proof that the templars intended to make him Tranquil rather than give him a chance at a Harrowing. Of his distraught pleas as he begged her to help the two of them escape from the Tower. Of the plan to destroy Jowan's phylactery so that he and Lily could never be traced.

How they had succeeded. How they had failed.

"The templars had us cornered," Yllia said softly. Alistair hadn't interrupted her once, listening attentively, his reaction unusually difficult to gauge. "They threatened us. They threatened Lily. And Jowan," Sweet, even-tempered, sometimes nervous Jowan, "panicked. He had a dagger, I don't know where it came from, and he…I don't know how he learned it. When he learned it. But he drew the blade, and he used his blood."

"Blood magic," Alistair said, and she watched his eyes grow wide at the words. "Your friend was a maleficar?"

"No." The word came out more forceful than she intended, and it startled them both. "Jowan wasn't… I swear on the Maker and Andraste both, he only used the spell out of desperation, and he didn't hurt any of them! They were threatening Lily and me; he was trying to protect us." She swallowed hard, wringing her hands together as she struggled without her own thoughts. "He…"

A hand far larger than her own covered hers, drawing her attention up from her knees and to Alistair's face. "Breathe," he coaxed, and she did, a slow shuddering breath that let her ease the tension out of her muscles and relax. He gave her an encouraging smile, squeezing her hands lightly and putting just a bit of pressure on them. "Better?"

She nodded, a flush of embarrassment creeping up her neck. Already their companions – including Alistair himself – had begun to look towards her for leadership, and here she was having a near breakdown in her tent. The only saving grace was that it was only Alistair who was seeing it happen. She would have been mortified if Morrigan, or even Leliana, had seen her like this. She looked down again, not quite able to keep meeting Alistair's eyes. "This is the first time I've talked about this."

"I can tell," Alistair said gently. "Don't worry about it. I had a devil of a time telling you my issues, didn't I?" His lightly cajoling tone caused her lips to twitch with a hint of smile. "So what happened after?"

"A lot of it is a blur," Yllia replied, following Alistair's prompt. "When Lily realized Jowan really was a blood mage she turned on him, rejecting him completely. The look on his face…in all the confusion he managed to escape, though I imagine… the templars have probably caught up to him by now. And when they do, he'll either be made Tranquil or…worse."

"It's not your fault, Yllia," Alistair said. The guilt in her eyes was obvious.

"Isn't it?" Yllia met his eyes with resigned sadness. "I was his friend. His family. And when he needed me the most I froze. I saw him use the blood magic, and I couldn't do anything."

"What would you have done?" Alistair asked. "Would you have stopped him? Helped him escape? You're lucky enough that you didn't get yourself killed in the process."

His response was a scowl, but no argument. Logically she knew that. But while her head understood, her heart was still convinced that there ought to have been something more she could do for Jowan. When Lily had thrown herself at the templars' mercy after Jowan's escape, Yllia had wanted to fry the girl herself. Not an hour earlier she'd been professing her sincere love for Jowan, and then the moment she realized he had learned blood magic she turned against him.

"It's not your fault," Alistair repeated, shaking his head at her. His eyes were alit with sympathy. "Your friend made his choice; it wasn't yours to make for him. But I know there's more to this. What happened after he ran?"

She took in a steadying breath before continuing. "They took Lily away for her part in it. I don't know what became of her – they probably took her to Aeonar for turning against her vows and helping Jowan to destroy his phylactery. As for me… well, when they saw that Jowan could do blood magic, they were quick enough to suspect that I was capable of the same things. Everyone at the Tower knew the two of us were close.

"Fortunately, before they could start throwing the accusations and bringing out the cuffs, intervention came in the form of Duncan. I hadn't even noticed him there or realized he'd been paying attention to what was going on, but apparently he had because the next thing I knew, he was interceding on my behalf with the First Enchanter and the Knight-Commander, and conscripted me on the spot." Yllia shook her head. "I'm still amazed at that. I mean, they were practically accusing me of being a blood mage, and Duncan wanted me for a Grey Warden. How does that even work?"

"Grey Wardens will conscript anyone and anything that they think might be useful to their cause," Alistair said with a grin. "Look at me, for example – almost-templar, recruited for my abilities to dampen magic. Useful against their emissaries. Then there was Daveth, you heard him talk about how he was a cutpurse headed for the hangman's noose when Duncan conscripted him. And I know for a fact there have been blood mages among the Grey Wardens in the past, the mage that was part of Duncan's unit before he recruited you was one. So Duncan must have seen something in you that he thought would be useful against the Blight." His grin softened into a charming smile that brought another blush to her cheeks. "I think he made a good choice."

"If you don't stop trying to make me blush, I really will throw you out of here," Yllia threatened, but her smile was becoming more defined, more permanent in response to his lighthearted tone. For the first time since she'd woken from her nightmare she felt herself start to relax fully, easing her body into a more at ease posture, releasing her legs and letting them stretch on before her.

"Now that's the Yllia that I'm more used to," Alistair joked, "threatening me with bodily harm over the smallest things. So. Feel better, getting all of that off your chest?"

She idly traced patterns in the bare ground next to her bedroll. "Oddly? Yes, somewhat. I kept telling myself that it didn't matter, that it didn't have any impact on what was happening now, but…talking about it helped." Yllia shifted and leaned forward, touching his knee and looking at her earnestly. "Thank you, Alistair."

He froze at her touch, staring blankly down at her hand for a moment, and then slowly lifted his gaze to meet hers. Their eyes met, sky blue to soft hazel, as Alistair's own hand moved to cover hers, a warm presence against her chilled skin. His lips parted as if he intended to speak, but no words emerged; she told herself that really, she needed to look away lest she be caught staring, and then…

"If the two of you are done with your little discussion in there," Morrigan's voice came through the heavy fabric of the tent, her shadow casting against the closed flap, "the rest of us would rather like to have a morning meal and break camp."

They yanked back their hands with a start. Moment broken, Yllia could only bite back a groan, making note of the gleeful quality to Morrigan's voice that indicated the witch was more than delighted to interrupt whatever it was she thought was going on inside of the tent. Alistair was turning a rather startling shade of red, and he managed to both cough and clear his throat at the same time, which – judging by his immediate wince – was not in the least bit comfortable.

"That's my cue, then," Alistair said quickly – as little too quick. "I'll leave you to, ah, dress, and I'll make sure there's some breakfast left for you." He flashed an easygoing grin and then reached for the tent flap, throwing it open and hurrying out. Yllia heard Leliana and Morrigan make a couple of comments and Alistair stammer out a retort, but she didn't pay close enough attention to catch what they actually said.

Just as well. She didn't need another reason to turn red in the face – not when she was already struggling to get the heat already there off. She couldn't believe that it was actually dawn already. Her discussion with Alistair must have taken longer to get through than she'd thought. She'd been so absorbed in her story, and Alistair…Alistair had listened without interruption, without judgment. Just like he always did.

Yllia fell back against her bedroll and stared up at the roof of her tent. She felt as if a weight had been lifted off of her shoulders, and a smile played at her lips at the realization. It had been a long time since she'd opened up to anyone so much, and there was a happy flutter within her chest, knowing that Alistair didn't think any different of her after hearing her story. It didn't change what had happened – the guilt over Jowan was still there – but feeling like she had someone to confide in made things easier.

Is it silly of me to hope, Yllia thought as she sat back up and reached for her folded robes, that I'll always have him to confide in?

The hands of Fate move in strange, mysterious ways. The smallest flap of a butterfly's wings can cause changes in the wind half way around the world. The simplest word spoken in the heat of the moment can have an irreversible effect on another person's life.

The cut of a knife against skin can open a road unseen.

It is choices that shape lives – yet how much of choice is chance?

And how much of choice is Fate?

They reached Redcliffe an hour after dawn's first light began to bring itself up over the horizon, weary despite the full night of sleep most of them had managed.

Their plan had been to go to Redcliffe Castle and seek an audience with Arl Eamon and persuade him to aid their cause by pledging his troops. It was, Alistair assured them, a good plan. The Arl's troops hadn't been at Ostagar; they would be fresh forces. And once the Arl knew of what had transpired at Ostagar, it was highly unlikely that he would support Loghain's regency. It would give them a safe haven in Ferelden when they were currently labeled traitors and murderers.

As they approached the bridge that led to both castle and village, Yllia decided that plans were only at their most effective until one actually went to instigate them.

Rhys, moving on a few feet ahead of his mistress, stopped without warning and thrust his nose into the air, sniffing the wind, his ears pricked and alert.

"Your mu-dog," Morrigan caught herself on the word mutt, having discovered the hard way that Rhys wasn't fond of the word, "appears to be sensing something." She paused and frowned slightly. "…as do I and I cannot say I much care for it."

The hairs on the back of Yllia's neck stood on end, and gooseflesh prickled its way along her arms, which she automatically moved to rub. "You feel it, too?" she asked.

Morrigan gave a slight nod, narrowing her golden eyes.

"What is it?" Leliana asked from behind them, sounding troubled.

"Magic," Morrigan replied. "There is some sort of magic at work in this place – a dark power, sinister in nature."

Alistair looked at them in alarm, momentarily forgetting that he and Morrigan didn't get along in his sudden anxiety for Redcliffe. "What do you mean, sinister?" he asked, eyes flicking back and forth between the two mages.

Yllia didn't answer, far too disturbed by what it was that she was feeling on the air. The spread of power was too thin to pinpoint, beyond that it was emanating from Redcliffe itself. "Come on," she said, starting forward. She didn't like this. Her survival instincts were screaming at her to turn around and go someplace else, but she couldn't do that in good conscience.

The first person they met was on the bridge itself, a young man clad in armor, a bow and quiver strapped to his back. That alone alarmed Yllia, for she couldn't think of a single reason why someone inside the village would need to be armed.

The tawny-haired youth greeted them with nervous eyes and equally nervous words, fidgeting anxiously as he waited for them to approach. "Good morning, sers," he said, glancing at Yllia briefly before his eyes settled on Alistair. Yllia bit back a sigh. Yes, the leader of their ragtag group must be the human in the shiny armor, not the elf in the robes with a stick on her back. And the size of Hawke's father's robes made her seem even smaller than normal; no wonder his eyes had gone right over her. She mentally counted backwards from ten, and then focused on what the youth was saying.

And then she forgot all about her annoyance as the guard, Tomas, first tried to get them to turn back, and then haltingly explained that the castle was inaccessible and that no one had been able to get in contact with anyone within for days. Moreover the village itself had been subjected to nightly raids, each night resulting in more and more villagers being killed or dragged away by monsters. Yllia tried pressing for more information, but Tomas insisted that he knew nothing else.

He was, however, willing to lead them to the Redcliffe chantry, where they could ask Arl Eamon's brother about what he knew.

The closer to the village they got, the more apparent it became that something was drastically Not Right. Yllia kept one hand on the top of Rhys' head, and even Alistair, Leliana, and Sten were beginning to appear disturbed. Morrigan's expression remained impassive, but Yllia could see her eyes scanning the area, taking note of everything that they passed.

"This isn't right," Alistair said as they made their way down the sloped path that led into the main village. "Where are all of the villagers?"

He was right – the only people that Yllia could see were soldiers, men and women in armor and bearing weapons. Of actual civilians she saw no sign. And was it just her, or did the soldiers all seem a bit…nervous?

"Everyone is in the Chantry," Tomas said, glancing back at them over his shoulder. "Most people are too afraid to leave it now…even during the day. And, well…there aren't many people left."

"How long has this been going on for?" Yllia asked as they reached the Chantry.

"Two…three nights now, maybe?" Tomas looked anxious, biting his lip. "I honestly don't know. The last few days have just been…" He trailed off and gave a shake of his head. "Bann Teagan can answer your questions better than I can." He pushed the door open fully, letting them inside.

Once again Yllia found herself in a refugee-filled Chantry, but unlike the one in Lothering, this one was filled with people who actually lived in the village they were taking refuge from, their own houses standing empty within walking distance from where they were hiding. A quick glance around showed no signs of templars – the only soldiers appeared to be Redcliffe militia, and Chantry sisters moved from huddled group to huddled group dispensing what little aid they could. Even with just a brief glance around, it was clear that even the Chantry itself was on its last legs as a refuge.

Her eyes landed on a tall, red-haired man wearing armor that seemed to be of a better grade than most speaking with a few members of the militia, his back turned slightly towards them. He seemed to be giving them instructions.

Yllia turned to look at Alistair. "Is that…?"

"It's been about ten years since I last saw him," Alistair said, his eyes on the man, "but yes – that's Bann Teagan. He probably doesn't remember me, though…"

"Then let's go talk to him." She turned to the others. "Stay here while Alistair and I speak with the bann. I think the fewer of us who approach him the better."

Leliana looked at her in concern. "Are you certain?" she asked. "I have heard the Bann of Rainesfere is a fair man, but if the situation is truly as serious as it seems…"

Yllia smiled at her reassuringly. "We're just going to talk to him," she said. "Alistair and I will be fine." She looked at Morrigan and Sten. "Everyone else all right with waiting?"

Morrigan gave a slight shrug of indifference, her expression a touch distant, preoccupied with the traces of magic that she could sense in the air. Sten nodded sharply, crossing his arms over his chest. He was getting more than a few wary looks from refugees, soldiers, and sisters like, but he gave them no return notice. At least Yllia was fairly certain he wouldn't cause any trouble.

After Lothering, trouble was decidedly something that Yllia wanted to avoid.

Alistair looked nervous as they made their way past the pews towards the front of the Chantry, and she brushed her hand against his wrist. She felt his tendons flex inside of his gauntlet as he opened and closed his fist, but some of the unease vanished from his eyes at her touch. Their fingertips brushed together in the faintest of touches as they reached the bann and she withdrew her hand.

"Excuse me," she said, adopting her most composed tone, "Bann Teagan?"

The man paused in his conversation with the militiaman, and turned to face them fully, a question in his eyes. "Yes?" he asked, clearly startled by the sight of a group of complete strangers standing in the Chantry. There was also more than a touch of caution and apprehension, as if he weren't quite prepared to welcome said strangers when the village was apparently in the middle of a martial crisis.

"A man named Tomas told us to seek you out," Yllia replied, meeting his gaze steadily. "We came to Redcliffe for aid, but we understand that you yourselves are in need of some right now. We'd like to offer our assistance."

Teagan was visibly startled – he must have given up on anyone offering outside aid, regardless of who they were. She noticed then just out weary and strained he looked; the man was probably younger than she estimated him for, the stress of the situation putting age on his features.

Then his eyes went to the staff on her back, and she saw just the faintest trace of suspicion enter into his eyes.

"My name is Yllia Surana," she quickly introduced herself before the bann became more guarded. "And this is my companion, Alistair. We're Grey Wardens."

They both held their breath as they waited for the words to register with Teagan, and Yllia knew that Alistair had to be a nervous wreck inside. No doubt he was running himself around in circles in his mind wondering if Teagan would remember or recognize him, or if he'd just assume he was some other Alistair. She was tempted to reach for his hand again, but held back; there was a time and place for everything, and it was not the moment when she was waiting to see if they'd be welcome or tossed to the wolves.

She was not prepared for the overwhelming relief that lit up Teagan's face in the next moment, and for a brief moment she had the uneasy thought that the man might actually attempt to hug her. "Thank the Maker!" Teagan exclaimed. "You don't know how relieved I am to hear that Wardens yet live – and Alistair, is that really you?" Teagan reached out and grasped Alistair's forearm, earning a similar gesture from the warrior as a relieved smile brightened his face. "I'd heard the Wardens had all perished at Ostagar."

Alistair gripped Teagan's arm tight for a moment, before they mutually released each other. "Almost all," he said, and there was no little bitterness in his words. "Yllia and I were assigned elsewhere, and so we managed to escape. No thanks to Loghain."

Teagan's expression darkened a touch. "I suspect we have much that we need to discuss," he said grimly. "Unfortunately, at the moment Redcliffe is faced with a rather dire situation that calls for more immediate attention."

"Tomas told us some of what's been happening," Yllia said, her expression growing serious at the despondency in Teagan's voice. "But he was all over the place with his explanation. He did mention attacks on the village and undead, however."

"We were hoping that was an overstatement," Alistair added.

"I wish it were." Teagan motioned for them to follow him into one of the side rooms, where they were afforded a bit more privacy than simply standing out in the open.

Once they were tucked away into the corner, out of sight of prying and fearful eyes, Teagan crossed his arms over his chest. "Three nights ago we lost contact with the castle," he said, his words quiet but audible."Not a soul has emerged from it since all of this started. I sent soldiers and militiamen to try and find out what happened, and none of them have returned."

"None?" Yllia asked as a chill rippling down her spine. Her thoughts went momentarily to the heavy curtain of foreboding magic both she and Morrigan had felt.

"None," Teagan confirmed. "When the first group didn't return, I was preparing to send scouts in through an underground passage into the castle – and that was when the attacks began."

He closed his eyes, expression strained. "The first night was the worst. No one was prepared. Everyone was worried about having not heard from the castle, about the soldiers not returning, but no one was expecting to be suddenly besieged by a horde of undead. They attacked anyone still out in the streets, they…" Teagan cut himself off, shaking his head. Yllia's heart went out to the man – she'd heard about what the undead could do to their victims. No doubt he'd carry the horrors of that first night with him for the rest of his life.

"Bann Teagan," Alistair said anxiously, "how was it that you were down here, in the village, and not up at the castle?"

"I'd just returned from Denerim the morning the castle gates came down," Teagan replied. "I'd been due back the night before, but was delayed…" He fell silent for a moment, and it wasn't difficult to tell what was going through his mind. If he'd arrived on schedule, no doubt he'd be trapped within that castle along with his brother and his brother's family.

Teagan shook his head suddenly, snapping himself out of his melancholy thoughts. He looked at the two of them. "I know I have no right to ask this of you," he said with a pleading note in his voice, "but I must, for the sake of Redcliffe and my brother. The village will not last another night if beset upon by undead once more. Warden Yllia, Alistair, please – will you help us defend Redcliffe? Will you help me find out what has happened at the castle?"

Yllia and Alistair looked at each other. Her fellow Warden had a silent, pleading look in his eyes. Redcliffe was the closest thing he'd ever had to a family outside of the Grey Wardens. He'd already lost his brother Wardens, already lost Duncan – Yllia didn't want to think about what it would do to Alistair if he lost the Arl as well. She was certain that it was concern for them that drove Alistair more than their need to enlist Arl Eamon's help against the Blight and Teyrn Loghain.

She thought back to the look on his face at Flemeth's hut, the day after their lives had been flipped on end and everything had come crashing down around them.

She never wanted to see that expression on Alistair's face again.

The look of relief on Alistair's face matched that of Teagan's when she told them that they would do what they could to help.

The sun continued to make its relentless pass through the sky, and the curtain of dark magic hanging over Redcliffe grew heavier.

'No matter how many times that you told me you wanted to leave;

No matter how many breaths that you took you still couldn't breathe;

No matter how many nights that you'd lie wide awake to the sound of the poison rain;

Where did you go, where did you go, where did you go'

'Hurricane' - 30 Seconds to Mars