Disclaimer: Dragon Age and all of its characters are the property of Bioware. Yes...even Jowan. ::sniff::
Arcanum: Fatum
Chapter Eleven: The Calm Breaks
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Despite the relief of victory over the undead, Yllia's minor panic over her nightmare and the fact that they were no closer to figuring out what the situation at Redcliffe Castle was cast a pallor over the celebration. Yllia was relieved to find that most of the villagers had made it through the last battle unscathed, including most of the militia soldiers and the people that she'd helped during the preparations, in particular a young woman named Kaitlyn whose brother she'd helped locate before the undead had attacked. The only real casualty, in fact, appeared to be the tavern keeper Lloyd, and no one was particularly saddened by his demise.
"Still thinking about your dream?" Alistair asked in a low voice as they made their way up the steep path towards the towering windmill and the bridge to the castle. He had the Green Blade slung across his back – Yllia had made certain to pay Kaitlyn and Bevin handsomely for their family heirloom, as it was by far the best sword Alistair had come across in a long while – and the soot had been wiped off of his armor. Somehow they'd all managed to come out of the battle with their gear relatively intact. Leliana had even secured a decent number of arrows to replace those she'd used.
Which was good. Because Yllia had no idea what to expect when they reached the castle.
"A little," she admitted. "It just…worries me. Here I have this dream about darkspawn, and I know they're heading somewhere, but the only thing I'm certain of is that they are not heading here. That means they're going somewhere where there aren't any Grey Wardens, and maybe not even soldiers who can fight, and I just…I keep thinking about all of those abandoned homes we keep passing."
"So do I." Alistair's expression was rather subdued, and it struck Yllia that since Ostagar none of them had had much of a chance to…to enjoy themselves. The brief respite at the Hawke farm in Lothering had been exactly that – brief. There'd been banter and conversation on the way to Redcliffe, mostly between the two of them and Leliana with Rhys adding a few barks, but for the most part it had been one thing after another with little room for a breather. Very serious. Very focused.
The next chance we get, she told herself, I'm calling for a rest. Even if it's just sitting around a damn campfire and talking. We can't keep going like this, Blight or no Blight.
They reached the top of the incline, and Yllia was relieved to see that Teagan was already waiting for them, along with Ser Perth and those soldiers who had not been injured in the night's battle. The bann, she noted, was still dressed for combat. Did he intend for them to fight their way into the castle?
She darted a glance at Morrigan and saw the other mage's mouth tighten into a thin line, the same question apparently occurring to her. The sensation of magic hadn't diminished with the defeat of the undead – if anything it had grown stronger, as if whoever was behind it was profoundly angered at their minions being so readily thwarted.
Yllia really didn't want to think about what sort of being would have undead minions.
"Warden," Teagan said in greeting, nodding to the approaching group. "Thank you again for all of your help in the battle – I hold no illusions on whether or not we would have been able to hold them back without your aid. You and your companions, frankly, saved us all."
Yllia felt herself blushing, and Alistair reached up and rubbed the back of his neck. She quickly cleared her throat. "You don't have to thank us, Bann Teagan," she said. "We did what needed to be done. I'm just glad that Redcliffe made it through without any more casualties." Alistair gave a sharp, if slightly awkward nod next to her, and Yllia heard something behind her that sounded suspiciously like Leliana trying to suppress a giggle.
Teagan smiled at their modesty. "Nevertheless, the gratitude is there." Then the bann's expression sobered. "And now we have an equally pressing situation. The castle remains out of our reach still."
Yllia nodded. "I assume you have a plan of some sort?" she asked. Maker, she hoped he had a plan. She didn't want to be the one coming up with all of the plans!
Teagan started to nod – and then froze as a sudden voice cut through the still air, calling his name in a frantic tone that had every one of them on edge. Even Rhys growled, the fur on the back of his neck bristling as they turned as one towards the bridge that led to the castle.
A woman was running towards them, dressed in noble finery that looked as if running in it was a very, very bad idea and followed by an armor-clad guard. And Yllia had thought her robes were tight around the legs. Maker's breath, did they give the nobility lessons on how to run in those dresses and shoes? The woman had an anxious look on her face, her auburn hair piled on top of her head in a disheveled fashion, and she was calling Teagan's name as she ran towards him. Just as startling was the fact that the voice was calling out his name with a heavy Orlesian accent. An Orlesian noble, in Redcliffe? And Teyrn Loghain wasn't attempting to burn the place down?
Her confusion must have shown on her face, because Alistair leaned down then and brought his mouth close to her ear. "Arlessa Isolde," he said quietly. "Arl Eamon's wife."
Yllia's eyes widened. Arl Eamon's wife? Which meant she'd most certainly come from the castle – which meant people in the castle might still be alive. That was the first bit of true good news they'd had since arriving at Redcliffe.
"Teagan," Isolde said, sounding relieved as she slowed to stop in front of him, "thank the Maker you yet live!"
Teagan stared at her in disbelief, as if he couldn't quite comprehend that she was standing there. "Isolde? You're…alive? How did you…what has happened?"
Isolde shook her head, and Yllia could make out the clear anxiety in her expression. "I haven't much time," she said. "I slipped away from the castle as soon as I could, and I must return before I am missed." She bit her lip, looked distressed. "And I…I need you to return with me, Teagan. Alone."
Oh, Yllia had a bad feeling about that. She caught Morrigan looking at her from out of the corner of her eye, and the other mage gave an imperceptive nod. So she sensed it, too. There were faint traces of magic clinging to Isolde – not coming from her, not created by her, but as if she had been standing too close to the source of it for too long.
She crossed her arms over her chest and looked at the bann. "Careful, Bann Teagan," she said quietly. "We don't know what's going on at the castle. This could be an ambush."
The arlessa spun to face them, her expression shocked. "What?" she exclaimed, clearly affronted by the accusation. "I… who is this woman, Teagan?" The contempt in the word 'woman' was clear, and Yllia bristled – then eased at a light touch on her back from Leliana. Right. Losing her temper now, here, was not going to help the situation.
Fortunately Teagan seemed to notice her bristling and hastened to intervene. "This is the Grey Warden Yllia Surana, Isolde," he said, his voice smooth as he sought to appease Isolde. "Were it not for her help, I would not be here. I owe her, and her companions, my life." Teagan didn't call attention to Alistair – and Alistair seemed rather content for that to remain the case.
Isolde actually had the grace to look embarrassed, turning back to Yllia and not quite looking her in the eyes. "Oh…pardon me," she said with sincere contrition. "I… would exchange pleasantries, but…considering the circumstances…"
Yllia drew in a deep breath and then released it. "I understand, Arlessa," she said with what she hoped was the appropriate amount of respect. She didn't particularly want to make an enemy out of the woman, after all. Blasted Circle upbringing and their lack of lessons on how to speak to nobility…
"Please, Isolde," Teagan implored, looking distressed. "We had no idea anyone was still alive in the castle. We must have some answers."
Isolde turned back to him, and there was just the faintest hint of trapped animal in her expression. "I…I know you need more of an explanation," she said, stepping closer to Teagan, "but I…I don't know what is safe to tell. Teagan, there is a terrible evil within the castle. The dead waken, and haunt the living! The mage responsible was caught but still it continues…and I think…" She paused, and closed her eyes, looking like she was ready to cry. "I think Connor is going mad."
Teagan looked stunned and Alistair tensed. Yllia herself felt chilled. So a mage was behind this, just as she and Morrigan had theorized. But…just a mage? That much she was skeptical of, especially if the mage in question had already been caught. There was a hole in Isolde's explanation somewhere.
"You must help him, Teagan," Isolde was continuing, and Yllia forced herself to remain focused. "You are his uncle, you could reason with him. He will not leave the castle…I do not know what else to do."
"What about Arl Eamon?" Alistair asked, breaking his silence and looking at Isolde anxiously. "Does he still live?"
Isolde turned to look at him, and there was a brief moment where it appeared that she might recognize him – but didn't quite make that jump. "My husband lives, yes, but…barely. It is a grave situation, but there is nothing that can be done for him in the castle."
"And this mage that you mentioned?" Yllia pressed.
At that, Isolde's expression tightened. "Caught, as I said," she replied. "He infiltrated the castle pretending to be a servant – and then poisoned my husband! He is the cause of this, and yet despite being captured and subdued his spells continue." She closed her eyes and struggled to get her emotions under control. "Everything seems so hopeless now…"
Teagan had gone pale. "The king is dead…and we need my brother, now more than ever," he said. Some of the color returned to his cheeks, and he set his jaw in determination. "I will return to the castle with you, Isolde."
Her relief was tangible, as if a great weight had just been lifted off of her shoulders. "Oh, thank the Maker!" she gasped, tears in her eyes. "Bless you, Teagan. Bless you."
Yllia looked at Alistair at the same time he looked at her, and both of them shared the same look. Neither of them wanted Teagan to go in there with Isolde. Probably for different reasons, but nevertheless… "Bann Teagan, I really don't think this is a good idea."
Teagan turned to her and shook his head. "I have no illusions of dealing with this evil alone," he assured her. "You, on the other hand, have proven quite formidable." To Yllia's surprise he turned back to Isolde and said, "Isolde, could you excuse us for a moment? I must confer with the Warden in private before I return to the castle with you."
Isolde hesitated, glancing briefly at Yllia again, before nodding. "Please do not take too long," she said softly. "I will wait for you by the bridge." She turned and hurried off, and Yllia looked at Teagan expectantly.
Teagan motioned for her to follow him closer to the windmill, away from her companions and from his soldiers. Teagan angled them so that their backs were mostly towards the others, leaving them with little opportunity to be overheard. "I understand your caution," Teagan said, "but unfortunately I simply see no other way to accomplish this. I fear for my brother and for my nephew – if going with Isolde can help them, then I must do it."
Yllia reached up and brushed back her hair, tucking a bound lock behind her ear. "If you're really certain, then I suppose you have no other choice," she relented. "So all right. What is it that you want us to do?"
He nodded slightly. "Here's what I propose," he said. "I go in with Isolde, and you and your companions enter the castle using a secret passage in the windmill. My signet ring will act as a key." He slid said ring off of his finger, placing it into Yllia's palm. "Perhaps I can distract whatever evil is inside and increase your chances of getting in unnoticed. What do you say?"
Yllia thought over his words for a moment, and then gave a slow nod. "All right," she agreed. "But Bann Teagan, promise me just one thing – please do not take any unnecessary risks." She looked him straight in the eye. "I know she's your sister-in-law and you certainly know her better than I do – but I'm a mage, and we're dealing with magic here. I'm not convinced she's told us everything. Will you…keep that in mind?"
Teagan hesitated, and then looked at her for a lengthy moment. "…I will," he agreed at last, giving a slight nod. "Without you, there would be no Redcliffe to save. I will carry your words with me, Warden."
She quirked a smile. "I don't suppose it would be too much to ask you to just call me Yllia? Warden is so formal, and half the time I think you're talking to someone else."
Despite the tense situation, Teagan chuckled. "Very well then, Yllia." Then his expression sobered. "Whatever happens in there, Eamon is the priority. You must get him out. Me, Isolde, anyone else…we're expendable."
Yllia closed her hand around the signet ring and clenched her jaw. "No life is expendable, Bann Teagan," she said quietly.
"Nevertheless," Teagan replied, "this is how it must be." He glanced over his shoulder to where Isolde was waiting. "I can delay no longer. Good luck to you, Yllia."
"And you, Bann Teagan." Yllia watched as Teagan turned to join Isolde. Taking a deep breath, she let the leadership mask slip itself back into place and walked back towards her companions.
"I don't like this," Alistair said bluntly as soon as she reached them. "I don't like Bann Teagan going in there by himself. I don't want anything to happen to Connor, but…"
"We're just going to have to make sure that we get in there and catch up to them as quickly as we can," Yllia said, looking at him and then at the others. "I'd hoped we'd just be able to go in through the gate, but it looks like we're going to have to be a lot quieter than that. Bann Teagan says there's a passage that opens into the basement level of the castle through the windmill that we can take."
"Oo, a secret passage?" Leliana looked thoroughly intrigued, a bright gleam in her eye at the prospect.
"I don't know how secret it is," Yllia said with a smile at the other woman's reaction, "but it's definitely a passage. Unfortunately I have no idea what condition the passage is in, or how big it is." She looked at Sten. "I'm sorry, Sten, but would you mind staying behind on this one? Ser Perth and his guards will be able to enter once we get the courtyard gates open from inside the castle and you can join them."
Sten frowned just a touch, a slight downward tug of the corners of his mouth, and then he glanced at Alistair. The Qunari was a good foot taller and held a broader width to his shoulders than the other warrior, and the hilt of his massive greatsword rose another good half a foot above his head. Adding in the fact that Sten's own armor was bulkier and heavier than Alistair's, and the choice for which warrior as better suited for skulking about in secret passageways was clear. "That is acceptable," he said at last, giving a slight nod. Yllia felt a touch of relief – she was never quite sure if anything she said would insult Sten's pride, honor, or beliefs.
"Good – then Alistair, Morrigan, and Leliana, you three will come with me." She shot Alistair a warning look before he could even speak – if magic was involved in all of this she was going to need Morrigan, and she didn't want to hear arguments. Leliana looked pleased to be included, and Morrigan gave a brief, satisfied smirk in Alistair's direction.
Rhys let out a soft whine, gazing up at Yllia with large, liquid-brown eyes when he hadn't heard his name. Yllia dropped to one knee and ruffled her mabari's ears. "Sorry, Rhys," she apologized, "but it wouldn't be a good idea for you to go for the same reasons Sten can't. You'll stay with Sten, won't you? And come in when the others do? I'll need you then for certain."
The hound's ears perked slightly, his stub of a tail wagging slowly in response, then picking up speed. Yllia smiled and placed a kiss on his muzzle. "Good boy," she praised, rising to her feet.
She checked to make certain that she still had the signet ring and hadn't dropped it like a klutz, and then nodded. "Let's go," she said, forcing herself to sound optimistic. "This shouldn't take too long."
"Oh, no," Morrigan replied as they headed for the windmill. "We only have to find the mage responsible for all of this, in a castle three times the size of the village itself, who may or may not be in league with a demon. No, I'd say you're quite right – not long at all."
He sat upon the stone floor in the near-dark, knees drawn up to his chest and his arms clasped tight around them, the soiled, damp fabric of his robes making them heavy on his exhausted body. He struggled to keep his eyes open as he leaned his head back against the wall. When was the last time he'd been given a meal? Not a decent meal of course, he hadn't had one of those since the day he'd been thrown roughly into this cell that was barely large enough for a child, let alone a full grown man.
His body ached. Although the magebane the guards had been shoving down his throat had worn off, physically he was too weak to conjure up so much as a small healing spell to tend to the whiplashes and cuts that marred his back and chest. It had been at least a day since the guards had come to interrogate him – he wasn't sure if that meant they'd simply given up on getting information out of him, or if it meant the situation had gotten so bad that they didn't have the manpower to spare.
He felt a twinge of guilt for not knowing which option to hope for.
He closed his eyes and leaned forward, resting his head on his knees. He was going to die. Of that much he was certain. If Arlessa Isolde didn't have him executed, then he'd either die of starvation or from the undead that prowled around outside of his cell. The only reason they hadn't already gotten to him, he was sure, was because of the bars that separated him from the rest of the castle.
He could hear them now, shambling around the dungeons, and he shrank further back into the shadowed corner of the cell.
What was that?
A difference in sounds – not the scrambling, growling sounds of the undead, but the clanging of metal against metal, metal against bone, the sound of collapsing skeletons and… was that magic? Yes – yes, he was certain, the telltale sound of flames roaring and ice shattering, he'd grown up in the Circle of Magi, he'd know those sounds anywhere.
And then footsteps coming closer, moving through the halls. Not coming from the direction of the entrance into the castle, but from elsewhere, the other side. Was there a passage that way? An entrance? He didn't know of any but whoever it was had come from somewhere. And if they were fighting the undead that meant they probably weren't involved with it.
He wasn't stupid. If he didn't get up now, didn't get their attention, then he'd rot away in this cell.
He didn't want to die anymore than he wanted to be made Tranquil.
With great effort he pushed himself to his feet, staggering towards the cell bars. The footsteps were about to pass by.
"Wait!" he called out, momentarily shocked at how hoarse his voice sounded. He swallowed, winced at the dry burn in his throat as he did so, and then tried again. "Wait, please! Don't leave me in here!"
The footsteps stopped for a moment. And then a figure moved in front of the cell, and he found himself staring at a petite elvhen woman, her dark hair in greater disarray than he was used to seeing, in an unfamiliar robe too large for his small frame, and a staff strapped to her back. For a moment he felt as if his heart had actually stuttered to a stop.
"…Yllia?" he whispered in disbelief.
She stared back at him, face pale and eyes wide as if she were seeing a ghost. "Jowan?"
Alistair nearly jumped as Yllia suddenly stumbled the few feet between herself and the bars of the cell, grasping them tightly as she looked at the man who stood – or was attempting to stand – on the other side. He recognized the name the moment it fell from her lips, remembering their conversation a few nights earlier, the story behind her conscription. When she moved so did he, angling himself for a better look.
His first thought when he saw the raggedly-dressed man in the cell was that Yllia had to be mistaken. There was no way this person could be a blood mage. Blood mages were supposed to be great, hulking menaces with auras of evil wrapped around them. Not…not half-starved trembling men who looked no older than Alistair himself did. Because that was exactly how Jowan looked. One look at the conditions of that cell and Alistair's stomach turned – even the stables that he'd lived in for most of his childhood were better maintained than these dungeons. Possibly because they were stables, not dungeons but…oh, that wasn't the point.
"Jowan?" Yllia repeated again, shock clear in her blue eyes as she stared at him. "What are you...Maker, Jowan, what are you doing in there? What have they done to you?" Concern filled her voice and overrode her shock, though that didn't surprise Alistair. Hadn't she told him this Jowan had been like a brother to her?
But Jowan flinched at her words, looking everywhere but right at her. He didn't seem relieved to see her – he looked panicked. Trapped, even. And...yes, unless Alistair missed his guess, that was shame.
It was that shame that made the warrior the most apprehensive, though he couldn't quite put his finger on why.
He was vaguely aware of Morrigan and Leliana both moving to stand behind Yllia with him, and Jowan's eyes nervously flicking to the two women before focusing – or not-focusing – on the elf in front of him. The imprisoned mage swallowed hard. "Th-the Arlessa had me thrown in here," he said, his nervousness showing in his stammer. "She thought that I was responsible for wh-what happened with her s-son." Desperation crept into his tone. "But I'm not, I swear I'm not! I tried telling her that, but she didn't believe me."
"What do you mean, responsible for what happened to her son?" Alistair's voice was sharper than he'd intended it to be, but the thought of something happening to Connor sent a rush of alarm through him. He wasn't Isolde's biggest fan – nor she his – but he had nothing against the boy that he couldn't help but think of as an adopted brother, despite the fact that he'd never truly had the chance to get to know him. The Guerrins, all of them, were important to him. And Connor was just a child.
Jowan tensed at Alistair's tone and drew back slightly, and Yllia shot her warrior a cautionary look. With his height, size, and armor, Alistair supposed he had to be cutting a rather intimidating figure – particularly to anyone who was used to being around Templars on a regular basis. For the moment Alistair couldn't much bring himself to care – he was too focused on what Jowan had just said. "What happened to Connor?" he pressed, hazel eyes intent.
Jowan swallowed hard and darted a quick look at Yllia before answering. "He's…he's the one who's caused all of this," he said in a shaking voice. "The undead. The raids on the village. It was Connor – or, actually, it's the demon possessing him."
"A demon?" Leliana sounded appalled, and Alistair could only stare at Connor incredulously. Dimly he noted that neither Yllia nor Morrigan seemed particularly surprised, though Yllia's brow did lift slightly.
"That's impossible," Alistair said bluntly, shaking his head. "In order to be possessed by a demon you have to be a mage. Connor is…"
"A mage." Jowan cut him off, and there was a spark of defiance and determination in his eyes that hadn't been there a minute before. Those two little words floored Alistair, made his jaw snap shut as he stared at the other man.
"That's how I got here," the apostate – it was next to impossible for Alistair to think of him as maleficar – said, his eyes going back to Yllia. "Connor…he began showing signs of magic some years ago. The arlessa's been hiding it so that he doesn't get sent to the Circle, but lately it's been getting more and more difficult. She was hoping that I could teach him enough for him to be able to control it and conceal it himself, but…" Here his determination faltered, the shame and uncertainty creeping back in.
"But?" Yllia looked at him imploringly, causing him to bring his eyes back to hers.
"I…" Jowan looked at her, pained. "I didn't summon the undead, but there's a reason why the Arlessa thinks I did. Why she wants to believe it. It is my fault that Connor was tempted by the demon, I opened the way for the demon to get to him, to offer him…" His thin shoulders trembled, and he bowed his head. "I've done something terrible, Yllia, and I can't undo it…"
Yllia stared at Jowan for a moment, the muscles of her throat working as her eyes slowly widened. She actually took a step back from the cell. "You poisoned Arl Eamon," she said flatly, recalling Isolde's impassioned declaration when she had inquired about Eamon's health. Alistair saw the way Jowan flinched, saw the way that Yllia seemed to just…close herself off…and felt another rush of anger not only for Arl Eamon, but for the elf who stood next to him now. Alistair had to clench his hands at his sides to keep from lashing out.
"Yes," Jowan whispered, his breath catching on that single word. "That crime I am guilty of."
Yllia took a deep breath, a myriad of emotions playing across her face as she struggled with her thoughts. "Tell me why," she said finally, and the simple question held so much weight and meaning in it. This wasn't simply an information gathering conversation now, Alistair realized. Yllia was preparing to judge her friend. Her brother.
Jowan kept his head lowered, unable to look at her. "…When I ran away from the Circle, the templars were following me," he said softly. "I managed to stay ahead of them for a while because they didn't have my phylactery, a week or so – but eventually they caught up to me. Before they could take me back to the Circle, though, a group of soldiers stopped and…and attacked them. The templars were outnumbered; they didn't stand a chance." He bit his lip, a gesture which looked painful given how chapped and dry those lips were. "The soldiers, they were Teyrn Loghain's men. When they took me into custody and brought me to Denerim I thought there had to be some sort of mistake – after all, what would the Teyrn possibly want with an apostate and a…" Again he cut himself off, but Alistair could fill in the blank well enough. An apostate and a blood mage.
"Go on," Alistair said tightly. Although Jowan seemed honestly upset by what he was telling them, anything regarding Loghain had Alistair going tense. Yllia's expression was still impassive, possibly even more difficult to read, but her eyes never left that of her fellow mage's.
"I never actually met the Teyrn himself," Jowan said. "The man who spoke with me was an Arl – Arl Howe, I think, but I don't really know much when it comes to the nobility. He had orders from the Teyrn, though. He told me that…that if I infiltrated Redcliffe Castle and poisoned Arl Eamon, Teyrn Loghain would pardon me for what happened at the Circle and I could return there. They told me that Arl Eamon was a threat to Ferelden." Jowan blinked rapidly, as if trying to hold back tears, but he was too dehydrated to shed even one. A sob caught in his throat. "I wanted so much to go back to the Circle, back to…to Yllia, and Anders, and my home. But I even screwed that up. By the time I realized what I'd done, what a mistake I'd made…it was too late. And then everything went to the Black City and I found myself in here, unable to do anything at all. Guilty of one crime…therefore guilty of everything."
Jowan lifted his head then, and gave Yllia a pleading look. "There has to be something I can do to make this right," he said. "The Arlessa won't believe that her son's been possessed, that he's the one doing all of this – and Connor's not to blame, either. He never would have made a pact with the demon if it weren't for what I did to his father. I never meant for anything like this to happen, but please – don't leave me here, Yllia."
Alistair felt his gut twist uncomfortably. When Isolde had declared the arl poisoned, he'd been prepared to condemn the person responsible. When he'd heard that a mage was behind the attacks on the village and that Connor was in danger, he'd allowed the templar training that had been drilled into his head to come forward. Yet now that he was faced with Jowan – far sooner and in far different conditions than he'd anticipated – he was full of mixed feelings. If Jowan was to be believed, then it was actually Connor himself behind the undead, and his own admitted guilt over the arl's poisoning stemmed not from true maliciousness on his part, but from desperation and manipulation. Alistair had always thought of Eamon as a father figure, despite all of the pain the man had caused him when he'd given his ward to the Chantry. The thought of him lying on a bed near death made him sick, but could he put the blame in this mage? Or did the blame belong on the shoulders of the man who had put the mage in an impossible situation?
"This boy could still be of use to us," Morrigan said thoughtfully, tilting her head to one side and regarding Jowan. "But if not, then at least let him go. Why keep him prisoner here?"
"He wishes to redeem himself," Leliana interjected. "Doesn't…everyone deserve that chance? Everyone deserves the chance to redeem themselves in the Maker's eyes, this man no less than any."
Yllia hadn't said a word after Jowan's plea, her eyes fixed at some point down on the stone floor. Leliana and Morrigan had stepped back, apparently not wishing to be included in any of this unless Yllia pulled them into I herself, but Alistair remained where he stood. Next to her, his presence obvious. Not intimidating – intentionally – just there.
"If I let you out of this cell," Yllia said finally, lifting her head to look at the other mage, "what would you do, Jowan? Where would you go?"
Alistair started. "Yllia, you can't be thinking – he's a -!" He cut himself off when she looked at him, and somehow her quiet calm rendered him silent faster than her anger would have. He nearly had to bite his tongue to achieve it, but he did stop.
She looked back at Jowan, whose own eyes had widened at her question. "Jowan?"
"I…" The mage started, stopped, hesitated before starting again. "I…have nowhere to go. If you released me, I guess…I'd just have to run again. I could probably disappear easily enough, with all of this going on the Templars would have a hard time picking up my trail, but…"
His eyes darted to Alistair briefly.
"But," Yllia prompted.
"But I don't want to just run away with my tail tucked between my legs." The words tumbled out of Jowan's mouth in a torrent. "Please, Yllia – I'm partly responsible for this, there might be something I can do. Let me come with you." He gave her an imploring look, his grey eyes wide and puppyish with his impassioned plea. "Please give me a chance."
Somehow Alistair wasn't surprised when Yllia turned to Leliana and asked her to pick the lock on the cell door. Once it was open Jowan stepped out, and from the stiff way that he moved it was clear that he not in the best of condition. He certainly didn't look like he was in any condition to cast a spell, let alone help them fight their way through.
Yllia grasped Jowan's arm as he stepped out. "Stay close to us," she said, "but if we get caught up in a battle I want you to get out of the way," she said. "No heroics because you have something to prove. Understood?"
Jowan looked at each and nodded. "I understand," he said softly.
When they started further into the dungeon Alistair hung back, no longer walking alongside Yllia. Instead he positioned himself where he could keep an eye on their unexpected companion. He wasn't going to argue with Yllia's decision – but he was going to make sure that it didn't backfire on her. He'd seen the pain Yllia had been in after her nightmare; friend or not, he was not going to let Jowan put her through anything more.