Disclaimer: I do not own Bioware. Sadly. If I did I'd actually have some idea of when Dragon Age 3 was going to come out. :(

Author's Notes: Holy...has it really been a month? I apologize! For anyone who's checked my author page you know that I've first been out of town, and then after I returned had to do a major rewrite on the middle of thie chapter to accomodate a last minute change in plot. This, combined with getting caught up with work and having to deal with a plot bunny for a new novel, resulted in unexpected delays. However, the chapter is here, and I've already begun work on the next one. Hopefully the arrival of my copy of Final Fantasy XIII-2 won't result in too much of a delay there. ^^; As always, please enjoy!

Arcanum: Fatum
Chapter Fourteen: Fate or Chance

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How long they ran Hawke couldn't say. The concept of time had long since disappeared. There was only time spent running without being chased by darkspawn, time spent running while chased by darkspawn, and time spent killing darkspawn so that they could run some more. The seven of them, Loch included, were tired, pained, and sorely in need of a moment of respite that seemed never to come.

Leandra and Wesley had the hardest time. They traveled in the middle of the group, with Aveline and Carver bringing up the rear and Hawke and Bethany leading with Loch. There'd been much debate concerning this arrangement – Leandra didn't want Bethany out front, Wesley didn't want to be treated like an invalid regardless of the near-useless arm that Bethany hadn't been able to spare more than a few moments of cursory healing on, and Carver didn't want to be trailing the pack.

Hawke had finally put his foot down. He'd pointed out that the darkspawn were coming at them from behind now rather than from up ahead, making the warriors more necessary in the back. In contrast he and Bethany were better off in front because if it came down to battle they could be of more use without darkspawn swords and axes swinging at their heads. As for Wesley, Aveline had handled that point by tossing him his sword without a word and watching him fumble the catch, proving that even with healing his arm was not up to par. Amazing how the grumbling died down once logic (and a visual aid) was thrust into the picture.

The formation had been proven the first time they'd been beset since setting it up, but it did nothing for the tension that was currently settling itself in Hawke's shoulders. His father's staff was heavy, and the muscles that he'd developed working the family farm were evidently not the same ones used to support a massive piece of wood and metal on one's back. Bethany didn't seem to be having the same issue, though her own staff was shorter and made of far lighter materials. Still, he caught the sympathetic look in his eyes when she caught him grimacing.

"Are you holding up okay, Garrett?" Bethany asked softly, dropping her voice and keeping it low so that Leandra wouldn't here. The last thing Hawke wanted was for his mother to think that something was wrong with him, and he appreciated that Bethany was thinking along the same lines.

"Just thinking how good it'll feel to reach a town where I can get a tub to soak in," Hawke replied, attempting to keep his response light-hearted. "I'll even take ice cold water if I have to. I'm not sure how Father managed to cart this thing around with him for so many years – I'm starting to suspect it's made of solid gold."

Bethany managed a smile in response, but it was strained from the situation. "I don't care if I ever have another bath again," she said softly, "if it means we can get out of here."

He reached out and touched her arm. "We're not down yet, little sister," he said affectionately. "Remember what Father would always tell us, whenever we were upset about having to move to a new home?"

She nodded. "He'd tell us to keep our heads high and never give up," she murmured. "And to always stick together."

"That's right." Hawke flashed her a grin. "And that's exactly what we're going to do."

This time her smile was more at ease, and Hawke silently congratulated himself on lifting his sister's spirits. If only I could do it that easily for Carver, but he's bloody determined to be as stubborn as a mule and as prickly as a porcupine. And unlike with Bethany, Hawke never could tell if it was stress from a situation or just Carver being, well, Carver.

A few feet ahead of them, Loch suddenly came to a stop, tossing his head up and sniffing the air. Hawke stopped walking and held up his hand, motioning for everyone else to stop.

"What's going on?" Carver called from the rear.

"Loch's picking up on something, I don't know what," Hawke called back. He watched the mabari pace back and forth, alternating between putting his nose to the ground and then lifting it up high. Loch let out a soft keen, and then suddenly his ears swept back and lay flat against his skull, lips curling upwards to bare sharp fangs. Oh yes. Loch was decidedly picking up on something.

The mabari turned to look at Hawke, intelligent eyes making his request clear to his master.

"Everyone wait here," Hawke said. "I'm going to take Loch and see what it is."

"You're going to leave us?" Leandra asked, looking very much like she did not find that idea acceptable in the slightest.

"We won't go far, Mother," Hawke promised, looking at her. "Just enough to see if there's any immediate danger. Stay here – this part should be safe, whatever Loch's picking up on it further ahead."

Bethany went to Leandra and touched her arm. "It'll be safer if they can see what's ahead," she said. "Garrett will be okay, Mother. He'll have Loch with him, after all."

"And the rest of us could do with a breather," Aveline said firmly, her eyes on Wesley. He looked like he was going to stubbornly refuse to admit when he had to stop for a moment, so clearly his wife had taken it upon herself to make those decisions for him.

Leandra hesitated, and in that hesitation Hawke knew that she was going to relent and agree. "All right," Hawke said curtly before she could find another reason to protest. "Carver, keep an eye out while we're gone – Loch and I will be back shortly."

Carver's brow furrowed, but Hawke didn't have the time or the patience to placate his brother about being left with guard duty. He snapped his fingers to the mabari, who immediately glued himself to his left leg, herding Hawke in the direction that he wanted to go in. Hawke unstrapped his staff and followed Loch's lead, eyes scanning the craggy landscape.

His gut twisted with foreboding. These hills had once flourished with greenery. Now they were little more than dirt and rock, the sporadic clusters of grass and bushes rapidly browning. Could the taint really spread this fast? Or had it been a gradual onset, spreading outwards from the Wilds, and without the presence of the darkspawn themselves everyone had failed to notice what was happening?

He gripped the staff tighter. Holding it was strange, odd, and against everything that Malcolm Hawke had ever taught his children. Staves couldn't be carried out in the open – waving one about was like announcing the templars, "Here I am! I'm an Apostate, come take me to the Circle!" Hawke and Bethany hadn't even been given formal staves of their own; the ones they used now had once belonged to Malcolm himself, locked away after his death. And now here he was, carrying one around – strange how he was dwelling on it, when such a concern should have been the last thing on his mind.

He was grasping at the familiarity, seeing solace from the destruction around him.

Loch stopped walking and shoved his head down into the dirt, sniffing around to retrace the path that they'd followed. Another growl, but the tone to this one was different – disgust mixed with hesitation, as if what the mabari was scenting was nothing that he himself wanted to encounter. Hawke's uneasiness returned in triplicate.

But after moment of hesitating Loch began to move again, apparently deciding that it was safe enough to track for a little longer. Hawke kept his focus on the dog and not his thoughts, all the while still keeping a solid lookout as they walked. There was nothing – only silence and outstretched barren land. It was quiet.

Too late Hawke realized that by staring at the similar, unchanging landscape he had lost track of his direction. Too late did he notice the increased agitation in Loch as he quickened his pace, and far, far too late did he realize one essential fact about the direction they were walking.

They were doubling back. They'd traveled in an arcing path, moving in a semi-circle around to return back to the same place where they had begun, where he had left his family to wait for him. Loch had picked up one scent trail, but had failed to notice the direction it was moving in until it had begun to turn. His choice to move on hadn't been because he'd decided everything was safe; it was because it wasn't safe, but whatever it was heading in a straight path towards his family.

He was already running when he heard the scream, the shrill, piercing sound echoing through the rocks. He recognized his mother's voice. He heard his sister's name.

Hawke and Loch launched themselves simultaneously over an outcropping of rock, the mabari landing nimbly on his feet, Hawke slamming the end of his staff into the ground to absorb some of his impact. His eyes focused up ahead, and time seemed to slow.

He saw the massive ogre towering over his mother and brother, black saliva and congealing blood dripping from its fangs. He saw it raise its arms up high, saw the limp form hanging from its grasp, saw it open its fist…

…saw the broken body of his sister hit the ground where it was thrown, unmoving, covered in red…

...felt the blood rush through him, roaring in his ears and drowning out the creature's echoing call to its brethren as it lifted its massive axe to crush his mother and brother.

"No!" The voice didn't register as his even as it ripped from his throat. He didn't see Carver bring up his greatsword to block the strike; he only saw the danger to his family.

He felt the energy crackling around his fingers, felt the power burn in his veins as it surged from somewhere deep inside of him, some untapped source that he hadn't known was within him. Hawke slammed the end of his staff into the ground, thrusting out his hands as sparks jumped from finger to finger. Lighting exploded outwards from his palms, slamming into the ogre and causing the creature to jerk from the sudden introduction of an electrical current into its body. Carver had just enough time jump back and pull Leandra with him, breaking the contact between the ogre's axe and his own weapon for he got himself caught up in the surge.

The ogre staggered back, caught in the seizure throes, foam gathering at the mouth as its insides were demolished. Even after the massive creature fell back dead Hawke didn't stop, another cry of rage fueling his power as the lightning arced from the ogre's body to slam into the darkspawn that had come in answer to its call. One after another they fell until all that remained were charred, smoking remains lying in crumpled heaps upon the dusty ground.

Only then, once his fury and power had nowhere else to reach, did Hawke lower his hands and grasp his upright staff, leaning against his heavily for support as he shook from the exertion.

"Bethany!" Leandra's tortured cry echoed in Hawke's ears, and despite Carver's attempts at holding her back their mother ran to her daughter, falling to her knees next to her and reaching for her. She cupped Bethany's head in her hands, tears streaming down her face as she tried to coax her awake, pleading with her desperately for her to open her eyes.

Bethany didn't stir.

Hawke clenched his jaw and forced himself to move, his body feeling numb with magic exertion and the heavy, leaden feeling of failure and despair that slammed into him as he drew closer to his mother and sister.

Carver had followed after Leandra, but he'd stopped more than a foot away, his face ashen underneath the blood, ash and grime. His eyes had grown wide, and he had a deathgrip on his greatsword, holding it slightly before him as if the weapon could act as a barrier between himself and the horror that the lifeless form on the ground was his twin sister.

Sobs wrenched Leandra's shoulders as she bent over Bethany, voice hoarse with wordless pleas. Aveline approached quietly with Wesley, and despite the templars obvious apprehension regarding mages there was nothing but sorrow and regret in his expression.

Hawke stopped and knelt next to Leandra, his hand coming to rest lightly on her shoulder. "Mother," he said softly, his voice cracking, "don't. It's…"

Leandra's head snapped up, her eyes flashing in anger. "This is all your fault!" she exclaimed, her pale face suddenly flushing with color. "If you hadn't gone off like that, if you'd only stayed with us, then Bethany…Bethany…!" She let out a keening cry of sorrow, bending over Bethany and pressing her face into her daughter's hair.

Hawke sat back on his heels, jerking back as fast as if Leandra had just slapped him physically. Mouth dry, he stared at his mother in numb disbelief. His fault? He'd been doing everything he could to protect his family, to keep them safe, to… to…

The strength of his failure fell upon him like a crushing weight, and he swallowed hard, his eyes focusing on the still form of his younger sister. Bethany, the only one since their father had died to understand how hard it was to have magic and have to keep it hidden. Bethany, who had always been quick to help and eager to please. Bethany, who…

Hawke's eyes widened.

"Mother!" he shouted, so loud and sudden that it made everyone jump and Loch scramble behind Carver's legs warily. Leandra's head jerked up and she stared at her son, but before she could ask he'd reached out and grabbed her by the shoulder, yanking her back from Bethany.

"Garrett, what…!" She stopped when Hawke yanked off the amulet he'd been wearing and slipped it over Bethany's head, letting the metal rest against her chest as his own hands flared with green Creation magic. It wasn't his forte, Bethany had always been the one with skill in healing, but he was hoping – praying – that the amulet would give an edge.

He blocked out everything around him - the questions from his family, the startled gasps as Bethany's fingers twitched, the shocked exclamation when the rise and fall of her chest became noticeable. He only paid attention to what he was doing as he felt the broken and crushed bones slowly knit themselves back together, felt the reparations to her internal organs , and felt her heart as it grew in strength with each beat.

And then she opened her eyes.

Leandra gasped out her daughter's name, surging forward as Hawke slumped, a wave of weariness washing over him. He felt groggy enough that he was sure he'd be able to sleep for a week. And then some.

Except that he couldn't. He reached into his pack and fumbled for a vial of lyrium, the last he had, seeking out the small glass container with numb fingers. Bethany's eyes were still open, but it was clear she was in a dazed state – she was able to just mumble out her mother's name and Carver's, but it would be awhile before she regained any sense of coherency.

Using his staff for support, Hawke hauled himself to his feet, stumbling a little. "We can't stay here," he said, noticing for the first time the charred corpses that he'd left in his wake. He suppressed the shudder that tried to pass through him at the sight. Maker, had he really lost control like that? He didn't want to think too much about it. Not now. Not yet. "Carver, can you carry Bethany?"

"Yeah," Carver said without hesitation. He sheathed his sword and knelt down to gently gather his twin into his arms. But as he straightened up, he gave his brother a shrewd look. "But where are we going to go?"

It was a very good question. With Wesley injured, Bethany unconscious and Carver carrying her, and his own mana supplies vastly deteriorated, there options were suddenly and severely limited.

And then his throat tightened as he saw the shadowed figures step out from around the rocks in front of them.

Leandra let out a cry, tripping over the hem of her dress as she stumbled to her feet. "Garrett!" she cried out, her eyes widening at the sight of so many darkspawn.

Hawke felt his throat tighten. "I see them." Andraste's arse. How long had they been laying in wait, preparing for the moment to close in on them? His heart constricted tightly as he counted their numbers. There were so many of them.

Too many for them to fight off.

With a feeling of dread Hawke realized that it didn't matter if he'd saved his sister's life. Their luck had run out. They weren't going to get out of this alive.

And then the dragon appeared.

If she hadn't witnessed the man's healing of his sister, she might have thought that for once her plans had gone awry. After so much time spent seeking out just the right ones, just the right connections and entwining threads needed to weave her web, perhaps she was overdue for a misstep.

But the moment he had begun to work his magic, she knew. This was the one. The final piece of the puzzle, the last key to fit the last lock. This man, this mage, had far more in his future than dying to a hoard of darkspawn in a blighted, desolate land. He simply didn't know it yet.

And so she had shown herself, descending from the cliffs above to lay waste the darkspawn that now threatened to overwhelm the ragtag and weary party below. When the last one fell, so much char and gristle, she became enveloped in magic and light, adjusting her form and returning to the human shell she made such frequent use of.

She'd chosen a form different from the old woman in the Wilds this time, one that bespoke of power and strength, one that did not attempt to hide who or what she was. Amidst the smoke and flame she approached them, her eyes locking onto those of the mage, holding his gaze even as he looked at her warily.

"Well, well," she purred, one hand resting on her hip as she stopped a few feet from them. "What have we here?"

The mage started forward, his brother a touch behind him with the girl in his arms, but they hadn't gotten more than a few steps before the man dressed in the templar's armor staggered and went to his knees. The woman warrior helped him to the ground, but she could tell that the man was not long for the world. Whether or not his companions had figured that out already, she couldn't say. She didn't much care.

She smiled slowly, her gaze returning to the mage. "It used to be we never got visitors to the Wilds, but now it seems they arrive in hordes."

The mage, though bone-weary and frayed he was, looking at her as if he were attempting to appraise her and figure out the right tact and approach for his response. "Thank you for saving us," he said with a hint of caution. "That was rather impressive…turning into a dragon and all."

Not so easy to trust, this one. Good. She'd rather have a king instead of a pawn.

"Perhaps I am a dragon," she purred, earning her a look that said he wasn't quite sure whether to believe her or not. "If so, count yourself lucky. The smell of burning darkspawn does nothing for the appetite."

She turned away from them, then, her eyes on the corpses that she'd left in her wake. "If you're attempting to flee the darkspawn, you should know that you're heading in the wrong direction." Or the right one, depending on how one looks at it.

"So you're just going to leave us here?" asked the younger warrior – a brother, judging from the familial resemblance. Unimportant in the grand scheme of things, but worth it to make a note of at any rate.

She looked over her shoulder at him. "And why not?" she asked, her voice hard. She turned back to them fully, her eyes going to the mage, amber-gold fixing on emerald-green. "I spotted a most curious sight: a mighty ogre, vanquished! Who could perform such a feat?" She shook her head. "But now my curiosity is sated, and you are safe…for the moment. Is that not enough?"

"My sister is in need of medical attention and stronger healing," the mage said with a shake of his head, determination returning to his voice along with strength. "We won't be able to get through the darkspawn on our own."

She approached him, never breaking eye contact. "They are everywhere, or soon will be. Where is it you plan to run to, hmm?"

"We're going to Kirkwall, in the Free Marches," the brother interjected, and he held his sister closer to his chest, protectively. Perhaps wary of her approach? If so, smarter lad than she'd given him credit for.

She smiled, feigning surprise. Kirkwall…of course, Kirkwall. Though it had been ages since she had set foot within the city, she knew it well from days of old. Ah. So this was the role Kirkwall was to play in the game. While one strategy played out in Ferelden, another would play out across the Waking Sea…yes. Now it was all making sense.

"Kirkwall? My, that is quite the voyage you've planned," she said, smiling slowly. "So far…simply to flee the darkspawn."

"Any better suggestions?" the mage asked dryly. "I hear the Deep Roads are vacant now."

The unexpected levity drew a laugh from her, and her eyes gleamed with power. "Oh, you I like," she said with a nod. "The same wit, but with a far better head upon your shoulders."

She reached out suddenly, grasping his wrist tight. "Hurtled into the chaos you fight…and the world will shake before you."

He narrowed his eyes. "What are you…" He moved to pull his hand back, but she released it and turned once more, walking a few paces away with her eyes focused on the horizon. Somewhere, out there, the world was releasing its fifth scream. The only question was, for how long would it last?

"Is it fate, or chance?" she murmured, more to herself than to anyone else. "I can never decide." She had lost her sense of time long ago – to her, a year could feel like a blink of an eye in her life. Was it fate that all of these players were now stepping out onto the board – or was it merely chance, coincidence that they were here now?

Either way, there was little doubt in her mind that this man was key to the games being played. What his role would be precisely, what his purpose, she did not know. That was future's knowledge, and she did not desire to seek it. It was far more entertaining, living in the now, moving what she would at will without knowing the precise outcome, though none of the moves would change the endgame. It would merely make keeping score that much more endurable.

And besides, this one could be useful in the short run as well as the long.

She turned back to the group watching her. "It seems fortune smiles on us both today. I may be able to help you yet."

He crossed his arms over his chest, giving her a shrewd look. "There's a catch, isn't there?"

She laughed again. Oh, yes…this would be one worth watching. "There is always a catch. Life is a catch! I suggest you catch it while you can!"

"Are you sure we can trust her?" the brother asked warily, eyeing the mage. "We don't even know what she is!"

"I know what she is." This came from the woman warrior, who had spoken not a word, too busy assisting the corrupted templar. That one was not long left for this world. The woman leveled her shrewd gaze at the other woman. "The Witch of the Wilds."

"Some call me that," the witch admitted. "Also Flemeth, Asha'bellanar. An old hag who talks too much." She chuckled – alright, so that one did have his moments as well. "Does it matter? I offer you this: I will get your group past the horde in exchange for a simple delivery to a place not far out of your way. Would you this for a 'Witch of the Wilds'?"

The mage hesitated, then looked over at his brother silently. The two of them held each other's gazes for a moment, and then the mage turned back to her. "What would you have me do?"

"There is a clan of Dalish elves near the city of Kirkwall." Or there would be, by the time they reached the Free Marches. "Deliver this amulet to their Keeper, Marethari." She drew a plain, silver amulet and chain out from a hidden pocket within her clothes, placing it in the mages hand. His eyes widened slightly – he'd felt its power pulse, she was certain. "Do as she asks with it, and any debt between us is paid in full."

The mage took the amulet, looking down at it, and then gave a slow nod. He slipped it into his pack – carefully, she noted with approval. He knew it held power; he wanted to do nothing to potentially disrupt it. Though his power was far from fully trained, he had a lot of it, and it was volatile.

She wondered what Morrigan would think about this man, if she'd been given the opportunity to meet him.

With the amulet safely secured, she stepped back – and now her eyes went not to the mage, but to the templar, her expression growing serious. "Before I take you anywhere, however," she said quietly. "there is another matter…"

He turned to follow her gaze, and she watched as grim realization settled over his handsome features. He knew what she was saying…and he knew what must be done.

Yes. This one would do just fine.

"Here. It's not exactly a cool, refreshing river, but it'll take enough of the edge off."

Yllia looked up as Alistair set the bucket of water next to her, and she felt a combined rush of relief and eagerness at the sight of the water. Clean water, cold water. Without hesitation she undid the clasps on her robes, shrugging out of them until she was left in just only her thin under-robe and smallclothes, and practically attacked the bucket.

"I never thought I'd say this," she said as she splashed water onto her face and neck, "but I actually miss the Circle at times like this."

Alistair quirked an eyebrow at her, settling down next to her in front of the fire – and, she noted to her amusement – averted his eyes despite the fact that she was really showing nothing at all to be modest about. The under-robe was shapeless, and she didn't have the sort of figure that the fabric would have clung even when damp. "Oh?" he asked.

"Yes. We may not have had much freedom under the templars' watchful eyes," Yllia said, reaching up to tug her hair out of its various ties, "but at least we had the privilege of nice, full baths. Not always private, mind you, but nice nonetheless. Do you think Sten would think it frivolous and detrimental to the cause if, we splurge some extra coin on an inn with a private bathing chamber?"

Alistair chuckled, grinning. "Probably," he said, "but I say go for it anyway. Provided we have the coin. Do we?"

She shrugged, bending forward to dip her hair into the bucket. Not the most effective way to clean it, but if she had to walk another mile with blood, sweat, and grim on her skin and in her hair, she was going to set something on fire.

As much of a hurry as they were in to reach Kinloch Hold and then get back to Redcliffe, once the sun had disappeared below the horizon even Sten had been forced to admit that a forced march through an unfamiliar forest in the dead of night was not the best of suggestions. They'd found a semi-clearing to camp in, Leliana and Yllia dealing with the tents while Alistair took Rhys to hunt up some game and leaving Sten on guard, and had settled in to wait out the time until first light.

Yllia had finally admitted how ragged she'd been running herself when Alistair and Rhys had returned with two rabbits and she'd practically tripped over herself in a haste to get to them and get them cooked. With time being of the essence, one rabbit was subjected to magical fire, while the other was stored for later. Magical fire cooking wasn't nearly as appetizing as a true fire, but when you hadn't eaten anything decent or substantial for over a day, you couldn't afford to be picky.

Aside from the rabbits, Alistair had also made the discovery of a brook not far from their campsite. It wasn't large enough for anyone to actually bathe in, so they improvised by collecting water in buckets and taking turns. Yllia, despite being eager to rid herself of the unwanted accumulations of their many battles, had graciously permitted her companions first chance at the bucket.

All right, she just didn't want to look like she was abusing her position as 'leader'. Waiting for the bucket had been sheer torture once she'd actually started to think about how she had to look.

"Probably not," she admitted. "We've been scavenging what we can, but that combined with the meager bits we got from Lothering really isn't going to get us far. If we get a bit of spare time I might be able to take some of the herbs and such that we've collected and make some potions or poultices that we can either use or sell, but right now we're rather sparse,"

Alistair nodded slightly, still keeping his eyes averted, and the two of them lapsed into silence as Yllia finished up with her grooming. Once she was feeling relatively cleaner and more satisfied, she yanked her robes back into place and set to the arduous task of redoing her hair.

"Are you all right, Yllia?"

The question made her pause, and she glanced up, peering through her untamed bangs at the man next to her. Alistair was looking at her now, expression attentive and searching. Almost too attentive and searching, and it caused a nervous feeling to flutter in Yllia's stomach. She could no longer deny that Alistair's attention and concern caused a surprising flurry of emotion to well up within her, nor could she deny that it made her simultaneously pleased, nervous, and uneasy. She wasn't used to any one person having such an effect on her simply by being near.

And she wasn't entirely convinced that the comfort she found with him wasn't due to the two of them being the only Warden survivors of Ostagar.

"Why wouldn't I be?" she asked, fighting back her body's desire to blush and betray her.

He gave her a pointed look. "It wasn't all that long ago that you told me about what happened when you left the Circle," he reminded her. "And I'm not so oblivious that I wouldn't notice that the Jowan you told me about and the Jowan we just met in Redcliffe are the same person."

She winced, both from his observation – why couldn't he be as obtuse as Morrigan claimed he was? – and from the touch of venom she heard when he spoke Jowan's name.

As there was little point in denying the obvious, she kept her head bowed as she worked on her hair so that she wouldn't have to look at him. "I don't know how I am," she confessed. "It's been one thing after another since we found Jowan in that cell, and I haven't had enough time to myself to think about it. One minute it's like…like he's the same Jowan that I've known since we were children. And then the next it's like I'm talking to a stranger, talking about things that Jowan and I would never talk about."

Her hands stilled, then dropped to her lap. She couldn't focus on her hair long enough to get it to resemble anything like its usual style. "When he started to talk about sacrifices and rituals… it gave me chills, Alistair. The Jowan I knew could barely cast a Winter Blast spell, let alone set up a ritual as complex as this. And yet I heard it in his voice and saw it in his eyes – he knows what he's talking about. And I just have to wonder, how long? How long has he had this other side to him that I didn't know about? How long was I oblivious?"

She swallowed hard as she spoke. How long had she failed to notice the changes in Jowan? She hadn't even known about his relationship with Lily until he'd told her, and from what she'd picked up from the two of them it had been going on for more than just a few months. She should have noticed something.

"Maybe that's something you should ask him," Alistair said quietly.

Yllia lifted her head, peering out at him from behind her bangs. "Ask him?" she repeated. "As in, sit down and have a conversation with him? We don't exactly have that kind of time."

"Not right now, maybe, we don't," Alistair replied, "but after we deal with this demon and help Connor there might be an opportunity. If there is, take it. Otherwise this is just going to keep eating at you, and it's going to be even worse. And the last thing I want to see happen is for you to get distracted in the middle of a fight because your thoughts were off in some other world."

She could feel her cheeks coloring at the concern that she heard. "Why, Alistair," she said with a soft, slight smile, "if I didn't know better, I'd think you were worried about me."

He picked up on her tone and grinned. "Of course I'm worried," he said. "After all, you're the only healer we've got. Who's going to keep me from using up our supply of injury kits if you're not paying attention?"

Yllia grimaced in response, but her lips tugged upwards into a smile. "Flattery will get you everywhere," she quipped. "Though please, try not to get too injured. Me being the only healer we've got isn't saying much. I've always been more interested in blowing things up."

"And you're plenty good at that!" he said brightly. The two of them exchanged grins, much of the tension lifting from Yllia's shoulders. She finished with her hair and settled back, wrapping the loose fabric of her robes around her legs and tucking them under her. Then she tucked her hand under her chin.

"I don't know about Jowan," she said, getting back to their topic. Avoiding it wouldn't do any good. "It isn't just the difference in his magic. It's… it's what they said, what he said, about poisoning the arl."

"Let me guess," Alistair said with an edge to his voice. "That's something else he wouldn't have done before?"

"You don't have say it that way," Yllia said with a touch of defensiveness. "It's not. Jowan would never hurt someone intentionally. Even when he used blood magic in the Tower and ran no one was harmed – he just wanted to slow the templars down so that they wouldn't pursue him. It's just not in his nature. So either he really believed that was he was doing was the right thing…"

"…or Teyrn Loghain has managed to thoroughly convince him that it is so, and that he will truly be able to re-enter the Circle with this act. Either way the outcome does not look good for your friend."

Leliana settled down onto the ground opposite both Alistair and Yllia, looking to be in profoundly better spirits than she had been before their impromptu bathing."Pardonnez-moi," she said with an apologetic smile, "but I could not help overhearing your conversation. Do you mind if I join you in it?"

Yllia and Alistair looked at each other, and Alistair gave a one-shouldered shrug. They'd had little time to really get to know their rogue companion, save for general conversations between Lothering and Redcliffe, but in that brief time Yllia had managed to form an opinion that the young Chantry sister had a rather keen mind and absorbed far more than her otherwise airheaded nature would lead one to assume. And, Yllia likewise determined, Leliana didn't strike her as the type to simply stick her nose into other people's conversations unless she had an opinion on the matter.

"Not at all," Yllia said with a shake of her head. "Do you have anything to offer?"

Leliana gave a disarmingly sweet smile. "Perhaps I do," she said. "You were discussing Jowan's claim that Teyrn Loghain was the one who put him up to his task in Redcliffe, oui?"

Yllia nodded. "I don't see any reason why – or even how – Jowan would lie about something like that. He has nothing to gain for wanting Arl Eamon dead."

"I agree." Leliana gave a pensive nod. "What need would a mage have for a dead arl? And your Jowan does have the perfect thing for the teyrn to hold over his head. He wishes to return to the Circle, and Teyrn Loghain has agreed to arrange such a return in exchange for assassinating the arl." She pressed her lips together. "Except that it is an empty promise."

Alistair nodded. "Loghain's got no hold over the Circle of Magi or the templars," he said. "They fall under Chantry purview – even if he recommends that Jowan be given a second chance, neither the Knight-Commander or the First Enchanter have to agree. And Loghain has to know that, which means he's made Jowan a false promise to get him to do his dirty work." As he spoke the words Alistair looked even more upset than he had when Yllia had brought up the subject of Jowan poisoning the arl in the first place.

Yllia looked downcast. "And Jowan wouldn't know better," she said dismally. "Neither he nor I ever paid much attention to politics outside the Circle. A lot of the older mages do, but we were just apprentices. All he would have known was that the teyrn was a man of great power, and that Jowan himself was desperate." She reached out, running her hand over Rhys' heavy, muscular back.

"What I am most curious about," Leliana put in, "is how the teyrn knew to send Jowan to Redcliffe in the guise of a mage tutor. Did not the arlessa say that she kept her son's magic a secret?"

"True," Yllia agreed, "although she could have easily put out a request for an apostate without alluding to the reason why. A discreet request, of course. And even if she didn't, there are certain signs in fledgling mages. Maybe Loghain picked up on hints of what Connor was and maneuvered Jowan into being there at the right place and the right time."

"From what I know about him he's certainly smart enough to do that," Alistair agreed, "but I don't know when he would have seen anything like that. Arls are lower than Teyrns, and even if Arl Eamon was the king's uncle, I doubt Teyrn Loghain spent too much time in Redcliffe, let alone around Connor. I certainly don't remember him visiting when I lived there." His eyes clouded over slightly. "Then again, I wasn't exactly invited to important meetings with high officials."

Yllia sighed. "We can beat around with what-ifs and maybes until we're blue in the face and the sun is on the rise," she said, "but we still won't be closer to figuring out Teyrn Loghain's motives or Jowan's true intentions. Right now I just want to focus on getting to the Circle and then back to Redcliffe in time to save Connor. That's the important thing. The rest of us…we can deal with after the fact."

"Will it be very difficult, you think, to gain the Circle's assistance?" Leliana inquired. "I know little about the workings of the Circle of Magi."

"That depends on what the general reaction is when people see that I've returned," Yllia said wryly. "But First Enchanter Irving is a good man, and Knight Commander Greagoir may be tough, but he's also reasonable. With any luck it'll take us no more than an hour or two to persuade them and make the arrangements and then be back on our way." She smiled at her companions. "I doubt we'll have any trouble at all."