Disclaimer: I do not own Bioware. If I did, we'd get an expansion for Dragon Age 2. :(

Author's Notes: Hurrah, more favorites and alerts! ^.^ Such things encourage me to write more. Then again, almost anything encourages me to write more - I was making a snack the other day and it had cheese slices, and I thought, "I need to write some more Alistair soon." So I sat down, did, and ta da! Chapter 16! Special thanks to Teakwood for beta-ing this for me (among other things), and another thanks to everyone who had been favoriting and alerting. :3 Hopefully the number of hits I'm getting on this means people are enjoying it. I know I enjoy writing it. It keeps me sane in between releases of The Silent Grove (why bi-weekly? Why?). Whelp, enough chatter (no one probably reads this part anyway ^^;), on with the story!

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Arcanum: Fatum

Chapter Sixteen: Ritual

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The trip that had taken them over a day to accomplish on foot was done in half that time by boat, the small vessel able to cut a straight path from Kinloch Hold down to Redcliffe's port. They were all relieved to find that despite the demon still in possession of Connor the undead attacks had not resumed, and Ser Perth was waiting for them on the docks when they arrived.

"Warden," the knight said with a nod to Yllia asked he offered her his hand in getting out of the boat. She took it, unused to traveling by water and finding her legs a bit unsteady. Alistair in contrast jumped almost gracefully out of the vessel and quickly moved to help tie it to the dock. It had taken two ketches to transport their party, plus the required lyrium, mages to use it, and templars to guard the mages. It was Yllia's first time riding in the sailing craft – the vessels were used only to traverse the great length of Lake Calenhad, and mere apprentices were never afforded the right to them.

"Ser Perth," she said, glad to see that he appeared to be recovering from the battle a few nights (had it really been that long?) past. "How's the situation here?"

"Unchanged, my lady," the tall knight said. "My men and I have maintained constant surveillance on the castle under Bann Teagan's orders, but there's been little activity. The…" He hesitated, eyes flickering once to the templars before settling back on her, "young lord retreated to the upper floor of the castle, near the arl's rooms, and has not come down."

Yllia wasn't sure if she ought to feel relieved or worried by that. On the one hand it meant the demon hadn't made any moves while they were gone. On the other hand, why hadn't it? She filed the question away for later contemplation if needed. She hoped it wouldn't be.

"And the companion I left behind?" Yllia asked. "Morrigan hasn't caused any difficulties, has she?"

Here Ser Perth gave a wry grin. "Short of having every one of my men fumbling his words and blushing like a schoolboy at least once during your absence, no. But I imagine she'll be glad to see you. I get the sense that playing jailor hasn't been her favorite thing."

"Jailor?" The word came out a bit more sharply than she intended, giving Ser Perth a cause for surprise.

"Yes – that mage, the one who was in the Arl's dungeon? After you left Arlessa Isolde insisted that he be locked up again until you're return. Bann Teagan interceded and stopped her from putting him back in the dungeon itself, so he's been under house arrest in one of the storage rooms on the first floor. I've got a couple of my men stationed outside the door, but your companion's taken it upon herself to be added to the guard – more to keep an eye on my men, I suspect, than on the mage."

Yllia did her best not to let her annoyance show. It was perfectly reasonable, she tried to tell herself, for Isolde to not want Jowan wandering about. She would have been reluctant to do so if it weren't for knowing Jowan as well as she did. She glanced over her shoulder, but Wynne was in conversation with Irving – the First Enchanter had surprised them all by insisting that he accompany them, despite his recent ordeal. Greagoir had been reluctant to agree, but had eventually acquiesced – though only after it had been pointed out to him that with Irving going they didn't have to send as many other mages.

"Lead me to them, Ser Perth," she said, motioning to get Alistair's attention away from helping with the boats and over to her. Leliana and Sten were already waiting to go up to the castle, and Rhys was glued back to her side – wet, as he'd decided to jump out of the boat before it was fully docked and swim to shore, but at her side. Wynne caught her eye briefly and nodded towards the mages, which Yllia took to mean she'd join them later. This was fine with Yllia – she wasn't yet ready for Wynne or Irving to find out Jowan was there.

Ser Perth brought them through a side entrance that let in closer to the room where Jowan was being held, rather than to the main hall where Teagan and Isolde were apparently waiting. The sight that greeted them was exactly as the knight had described – two guards standing on either side of a barred door, and Morrigan standing across from them, holding a posture that was no doubt responsible for the reddening of the guards' cheeks and the slight shifting as they stood.

Morrigan looked up as Yllia approached, moving her hand from her hip and standing up straight to look at the other mage. "'Tis about time," she said with no little irritation. "I thought you said it would only take a day. In fact, I believe you were certain it would take no longer than that, and yet here you are, delayed."

"Sorry we couldn't keep to your schedule," Alistair said sarcastically.

Yllia had a hard time keeping the smile off of her face – she had to admit, she'd missed hearing Alistair and Morrigan bicker like a pair of siblings. She wasn't going to admit to that, though, it was likely to just make Morrigan search for even more opportunities to aggravate Alistair, which she was sure the warrior Warden would not appreciate.

"We had an unexpected delay at the Circle," Yllia said, catching Morrigan's eye and giving her what she hoped the other mage would interpret as a I'll-tell-you-later look. She didn't want to get into those details in the middle of a hallway in Redcliffe Castle where a demon was lurking about. She didn't know if demons could hear through walls and floors and she didn't particularly want to test that theory now. "Where's Jowan?"

"In there." Morrigan inclined her head towards the guarded door, delivering a contemptuous look at the two guards in the process. They cringed, looking less as if they were thinking with what lay between their legs and more like how they were going to keep from losing those vital parts. "The esteemed Arlessa refused to have him wandering about; I opted to stay close in case they changed their mind about putting him back down in the dungeon."

Yllia looked at the door, then stepped up to the two guards and looked up at them. "Let me in."

The guards looked at each other. "With all due respect, Warden," the older of the two ventured, "we are under orders from the Arlessa to let no one in to see the prisoner."

Yllia scowled in irritation. She put her hands on her hips, drawing herself up to her full height. "Maybe I didn't make myself clear," she said, "since you seem to be under the misconception that I was asking. I want to see the mage. Now."

"Might want to do what she says," Alistair suggested casually from behind her. "She's got a tendency to set things on fire when she gets mad."

The younger guard's eyes widened and eyed her warily, and she gave him her best, most innocent smile. For some reason, that gave both guards cause to hurriedly do what she asked – though she was sure the presence of Ser Perth and his lack of objection had something to do with it.

She stepped inside the room and let them shut the door behind her. Odd, how she didn't flinch at the sound of that damning click. Before leaving the Tower – in what she was coming to think of as her Other Life – she would have lost it over even the thought of being locked up in a room, caged like some sort of animal.

Jowan was sitting atop a storage crate, legs drawn up with his heels resting on the edge of another, arms clasped around his knees. Lanky strands of black hair hung over his face, the bangs far longer than he normally wore, and his violet-grey eyes were staring blankly down at his feet. The sight made Yllia's heart ache. Jowan had never been the most outgoing person, but he'd never seemed so listless, either. He didn't look up when the door closed, or even flinch. Yllia wasn't sure he'd even heard it.

"Jowan?" She reached out and placed her hand on his shoulder, causing him to jump in surprise. He swung his legs down and immediately rose to his feet.

"You're back," he said in that breathless tone that said he'd been waiting but didn't want it to be obvious. "I was starting to worry...starting to think you weren't going to return. What happened?"

"The templars gave us the lyrium," Yllia replied, glancing around for a place to sit and finding only more storage crates. She dropped herself unceremoniously onto one, giving Jowan leave to reclaim his. "The First Enchanter also came with us, as well as a few other mages and templars to keep an eye on them – they don't know about you yet." She said that last bit in response to the widening of Jowan's eyes and the fear she saw in their depths.

He swallowed hard, and looked down. "But they will," he said softly. "Even if you don't tell them, they'll find out about me. I have to do this spell, after all. Then it'll be back to the Tower for me, where they'll either kill me or…or give me the brand."

"I won't let them do that." Jowan looked up in surprise and saw the fierce look of determination in Yllia's eyes. She looked at him steadily. "I promise, Jowan. I won't let them hurt you. They're the ones at fault for what happened at the Tower, backing you into a corner like that. And it's not as if you hurt anyone in your escape, even if you did use blood magic."

"But I'm not innocent, Yllia," Jowan said softly. "I poisoned the Arl. Me, with my own hands. I put the poison in his drink before it was served to him, and kept doing it until he collapsed. Just the way I was told to do it."

Yllia reached out and placed her hand on Jowan's wrist, her fingers resting lightly against his pulse point. She could feel it fluttering erratically, and hoped it was just due to nerves. "I know you, Jowan," she said quietly. "You're not a bad person. You don't always make the best choices, true, but you're not evil. And I'm not going to let anyone say you are, especially not the Arlessa. That woman can't see evil even when it's right in front of her face."

She shook her head. "And I'm not even sure if you'd be the Templars' first priority right now," she said grimly. "Do you remember Uldred and his lot, back at the Tower?"

Jowan's expression darkened. "How could I forget?" he asked softly. "Every time I was around one of them I felt ill. I tried to steer clear of them as much as I could. Why?"

The petite elf sighed, reaching up to finger a lock of loose hair, making Jowan notice for the first time that Yllia wasn't wearing her hair in its usual style. It was longer than it looked when it wasn't bound up and out of the way. Another indication of how much things had changed in such a short amount of time.

"It turns out that all of the rumors were true," Yllia said quietly. "Uldred and his people were blood mages. They staged a coup on the Circle, took the templars by surprise…tore open the Veil and unleashed a horde of demons upon everyone who didn't join them. Apprentices and mages alike were being made in abominations… the templars couldn't get it under control. Some of the mages managed to get to the first level and seal off the rest of the Tower, but the Knight-Commander had to call for the Right of Annulment."

Jowan's back went rigid as he sat up straight, the blood draining from his face as he stared at her in open-mouthed horror. "But…but they can't! And you said, didn't you say that some mages came with you?"

"Knight-Commander Greagoir called it off," Yllia said, holding up a hand to quiet him, "after we were able to make our way to the top of the tower and defeat Uldred. Greagoir didn't want to call for the Right, I could see that well enough when we were talking, but he was backed into a corner. He promised me that if I could bring him First Enchanter Irving, then he would call it off. I did, and he did. The Circle is safe for now – those that survived, anyway." Her expression grew strained.

"Yllia…?"

Jowan's hesitant voice drew Yllia out of her thoughts, thankfully before they could grow too morbid, and she flushed at having gotten lost in her thoughts like that. "Sorry," she said softly. "It's just… a lot more people died than survived. I'm not sure how many. They hadn't gotten to all of the survivors by the time we had to leave. Wynne thinks that some of the mages got into the storage tunnels for safety…and the lower levels, the basement, were all sealed off at some point during the attack…"

"The basement?" Jowan cut in quietly, and the two of them spared a moment to look at each other, really look, in the way they'd used to when they were children and thought they could read each other's minds.

"I don't know," Yllia replied quietly. "They still hadn't opened the doors when we had to go. Not a high priority, I suppose."

"I'm sorry," Jowan said softly, and he meant the words. "You were always closer to him than I was."

Yllia bit her bottom lip delicately, then released the building sigh and shook her head. "I can't dwell on it," she said. "I doubt the demons got down that far… and we've got issues to deal with here. You're sure you can cast this spell, Jowan? Using lyrium?"

Jowan nodded. "The spell itself has nothing to do with blood magic," he said, emphasizing the word 'nothing'. "It only requires a certain level of power, and blood is usually the quickest way to get it."

"Where did you find this spell?" Yllia couldn't help her curiosity. Although there were several spells capable of sending someone into the Fade, and she even knew a couple of them, the spell that Jowan was suggesting was incredibly precise and – she felt slightly shamed to think this – beyond his skill level. Hence, most likely, the need for a power catalyst.

Jowan reached up and brushed back his hair from his face, attempting to tuck it behind his ear to keep it out of the way. He failed, the long strands flopping back over his eyes. "It was in the book that I learned blood magic from," he said quietly. "I think… I don't think anyone's ever tried it without using blood magic for power, and that's why it was in there. But there's no reason the lyrium can't work just as well." He gave her a pleading look. "I can do this, Yllia. Please give me a chance."

Yllia shook her head. "I wasn't going to suggest you not do it," she reassured him. "No one else seems to have any better ideas. I just wanted to know a bit more about it, since I'm going to be the one you send in there." At the wide-eyed look he gave her, she managed a slight smile, lifting one corner of her lips. "Did you think I would allow anyone else to risk themselves? It won't be the first time I've been to the Fade." Her expression darkened. "Or the first demon I've had to face."

It was on the tip of Jowan's tongue to ask Yllia what she meant, but something about the look in her eyes stopped him. It wasn't a look she'd ever had before her Harrowing; before he'd abused her trust to gain her help in destroying his phylactery.

Neither of them were the same as they'd once been, he noted with sadness. Strange, how one could spend their lives one way for so many years, and then have all of that changed so quickly.

A knock on the door interrupted both of their thoughts; the guards had decided that Yllia had been in there quite long enough, and her own companions (namely Alistair) were getting restless. Yllia bid good-bye to Jowan and left the room, steeling herself as she did so. She was going to need all of her nerves to face Isolde and Teagan again – not to mention Irving and the templars when she told them just who would be performing the spell.

Jowan watched until the door closed behind her. Then he let out a soft sigh and lowered his head into his hands. Was he ready for this? Was he ready to face his mistakes?

It didn't matter.

He'd have to do it anyway.

Anders leaned against the tree, letting his head fall back against the trunk as he slowly caught his breath. He closed his eyes, letting the warmth of the morning sun fall across his face, and a slow smile began to spread across his face.

He'd done it.

It had been two days since he'd made his escape. He still didn't know how the enchantments on his cell door had fallen, or exactly when the lock had been tripped. He suspected it had something to do with the templar – who he was starting to think hadn't been a templar at all – that had spoken to him. Whoever they were mattered little to him; not even the strange things the woman had said could override his sheer joy at being able to stand out in the sun once again.

The sun wasn't the only source of Anders' elation. The Circle had been in the midst of a crisis of some kind when he'd made his way up from the dungeons. Templars and mages alike had been running for the upper levels, not a one of them sparing a second glance at the limping, disheveled mage who had pressed himself against the nearest wall the moment he'd been clear of that damnable staircase. He suppressed a shudder as he recalled the agonizingly slow climb of the stairs, the muscles of his lower back and legs screaming in protest from movement they hadn't had to use in months. He'd forced himself to walk several times a day in his cell to keep his legs from weakening, but ascending stairs was another matter.

And the entire time he'd done so with his heart in his throat, worrying that he was taking too long, that a templar would come tromping down the stairs at any moment and catch him, and that would be the end of it. He dreaded to think of what they would have done to him if they'd caught him escaping solitary. Just because Harrowed mages weren't supposed to be made Tranquil didn't mean that they might not make an exception. He found that if he got on someone's nerves enough, there was always an exception.

He hadn't been caught, though, and while everyone was running and looking in one direction, he high-tailed his way out of the Tower in the other. Anders felt a twinge of regret at not being able to see his friends one more time, but there hadn't been time. He hadn't had time to do anything but escape with only the tattered, stained robes on his back. It was the first time, he realized, that he hadn't even been able to bring his personal belongings with him. Not that there were many, but the few he did possess …they were precious to him.

That is, if they even existed. For all he knew, the templars had destroyed or burned them all after locking him away. All he had left to him now was his freedom, and to the Void with them all if they thought he was going to give that up without a fight.

Luck appeared to be on his side, at least; two days out and he had yet to see any sign of the templars. This meant that either no one had noticed his escape yet, or else whatever had been going on at the Tower when he'd left was taking up all the templars' attention. Whatever reason it was he was thankful for it. It gave him a chance to put as much distance between the Circle and the templars as he could. He'd have made even better time if he hadn't had to skirt around a group traveling along the road towards Redcliffe the night before in order to avoid being seen, but he'd take every bit that he could get. The larger the head start before they began tracking with his phylactery, the better off he was.

One day, he was going to find a way to destroy that blasted little vial.

Not today, though. For now he had to keep moving forward. The best choice would be to leave Ferelden, hop passage on a ship and make his way across the Waking Sea to either Cumberland in Nevarra, or one of the ports in the Free Marches. That meant going either east to Gwaren or north to Amaranthine. Both were equal distance from where he was, roughly – it all depended on whether he wanted to rough it through the forests or follow the Highway. He had time to decide; first things first was getting a decent meal and a change of clothes that didn't scream Apostate. And…maybe a bit of medicine until the magebane worked its way out of his system and he could use his magic again.

Breath caught by now, Anders stepped away from the tree, preparing to make for the nearest farmstead. After a step he paused and turned slightly, looking back in the direction he'd come from. The flat, sparsely treed land around him allowed a view of the towering spire of Kinloch Hold despite how far away it was. The tall, dark monolith rose up into the sky, and Anders swore he could feel a chill wash over him as he looked at it.

They'll understand, he told himself again, thinking of the friends he was leaving behind. Karl, who always knew the right thing to say to lift his spirits. Jowan, his exact opposite, who relished the safety of the Circle even as it worked against him. And Yllia, who greeted him with a smile each time he returned as if he had never left at all, who shared his dreams of freedom but wouldn't leave Jowan alone.

They'd understand. They always had.

Anders turned away from the Tower and set off to the north, the Highway, and freedom.

Good-bye. And good luck.

"I am fairly certain I do not envy Yllia at this moment," Leliana murmured in an aside to Alistair half an hour later. Alistair gave a nod of assent, his eyes on his diminutive partner as she listened to a double lecture from both Wynne and the First Enchanter Irving on the other side of the main hall. To say that either elder mage had reacted calmly upon finding out just who was going to be performing the spell was a gross distortion of the facts.

"I think I'm going to second that," Alistair replied, crossing his arms over his chest. From the angle they were standing he couldn't get a good look at either Irving or Wynne's faces, but he could see Yllia's, and the longer the other two spoke the stonier her expression was becoming. He noted, idly, that the templars were staying out of this particular discussion, though one of them was glaring daggers in Jowan's direction.

They'd brought the blood mage in only minutes earlier, and now he stood to the side, head hanging with a guard standing on either side of him. His hands were bound in front of him – Isolde's insistence, he figured, because it was common knowledge that a mage could not cast without full use of both hands. Speaking of the arlessa, she was standing at the front of the room next to Teagan, wringing her hands together and looking altogether anxious. He couldn't blame her. While Yllia was busy getting chewed out by her former colleagues, Connor was demon-possessed in the upper levels of the castle.

"And this proves my point precisely." Alistair jumped at the suddenness of Morrigan's muttered words to his left, startled by the nearness. He hadn't noticed her enter the room, too focused on what was happening with Yllia. The wild witch was leaning against the same wall he and Leliana were standing at, her amber-hued eyes casually fixed on the scene before them as well. "We are wasting time while they squabble about morals and propriety, whereas if it were me I would have had the spell cast and done with."

"Well, given that he's a blood mage and a fugitive apostate, you can't really blame them for being upset about it," Alistair pointed out. Although even he had to agree that the lecture had gone on for awhile now, and he wasn't a particular fan of the frown that was growing increasingly deeper on Yllia's face. Morrigan opened her mouth to reply, and Alistair shook his head. "No, wait, don't tell me. You think he ought to be given a reward for both of those things, don't you?"

"One can hardly be faulted for wishing to take control of one's own life, can they?" Morrigan arched an eyebrow at him, and Alistair scowled in return. "'Tis little different from wishing to be acknowledged by one's own father, is it not?" She gave him such a shrewd look that it brought a flush to Alistair's cheeks and a deeper scowl. Bloody… so she had been eavesdropping on his conversation with Yllia that night in Lothering!

Leliana was giving him a curious look now, and he clenched his jaw. He did not want to get into a discussion regarding his parentage with either Morrigan or Leliana, and he definitely did not want to do it in the main hall of Redcliffe Castle! Movement drew his attention away – thank Andraste – as Teagan moved across the room to join the three mages, taking up position next to Yllia. A couple of emphatic gestures later and a nod to Isolde, and both Irving and Wynne finally appeared to relent and step back.

Alistair caught Yllia's eye as she turned away from them and towards Jowan, and she offered him a tight smile of assurance, which he could only assume meant they were going to go ahead with the ritual as planned, but that the Circle mages were still none too happy about the situation. Then their eye contact broke and she was going over to Jowan, touching the other man's shoulder to get his attention and talking to him in quiet tones.

A moment later they were moving into position, with Jowan standing in front of Yllia and the mages that had accompanied the First Enchanter from the Circle forming a semi-circle around her. One of the mages passed Jowan a rather large glass vial, the blue liquid within shimmering, and Alistair had to fight to suppress a shudder as he recognized the lyrium. He remembered the stuff from his training days, and the recollection brought the memory of the taste to mind. He hadn't taken it nearly long enough to worry about addiction, thank the Maker, and wondered briefly if the metallic taste got any more tolerable over prolonged use. Far more likely that they just ignore it, since they have to live off of the stuff, he thought wryly.

Having spent time training with templars and now with Yllia, Alistair had witnessed his share of spells. Most were the same – some chanting, some hand waving, often fire. But he'd never seen a spell that sent someone to the Fade, and he wasn't sure what to expect. He did know, as he stood there quietly, that his stomach was twisted in knots at the thought of Yllia having to face the demon that held Connor in its grasp alone. He'd as much as voiced his concern before they'd started this.

She'd calmly reminded him that this wouldn't be the first time she'd faced down a demon, and he'd been left with little to no argument. Arguing wouldn't have done any good, anyway. He was coming to know her little personal ticks, those bits of body language that preceded her decisions and betrayed her thoughts. She wasn't going to make any other mage go through this – if it was going to be done, she would do it. She wasn't going to be talked out of it.

And with Connor's life at stake, he couldn't bring himself to try.

Jowan brought his hands up in front of him - and Alistair saw that almost everyone was watching for any trace of blood, including him – and began casting. His movements were shaky, a look of nervousness in his eyes…what was it that Yllia had said, that Jowan had never been especially talented in any of the Circle-approved schools of magic? Interesting that they were letting him cast this spell at all, then, although since he was the only one who knew it they didn't have much of a choice.

Jowan's hands suddenly flared with light, an unexpected burst that made Alistair draw back and bring his hand up to shield his eyes.

When he lowered his hand, he found Yllia collapsed on the floor, and the First Enchanter was kneeling beside her. After a moment, he motioned to one of the other mages to move her into a more comfortable position, and lifted his head to address the room. "She's entered the Fade," Irving said gravely.

Alistair's throat tightened as his eyes focused on the still-form of the diminutive elf, and a dark thought entered his mind. If anything happened to Yllia, it didn't matter what intentions Teagan or the templars had for the blood mage. He'd deal with him himself. "What do we do now?" he asked Irving, his words strained.

The elder mage fixed his eyes on Alistair, his expression grim. "The rest is up to her," he said. "All we can do now is wait."

3/27/12 - Special thanks to Faermage-KH Junkie for catching a couple of AutoCorrect issues that Word decided was more appropriate than what I originally wrote. Here's hoping I caught them all.