Disclaimer: I don't own Dragon Age. Nope, not one little bit.

Author's Notes: Ah! Another chapter! :D Shorter than the last, but it was either post this or possibly hold onto it for another two weeks trying to add onto it. It makes the bare minium that I prefer for my chapters, so up it goes! Hm, not much to say about this one. Thank you to those still reading my stories - please, I absolutely love feedback, so if you like the story please leave me a review. Likewise if you want to give me some constructive criticism I'm glad for those, too. Just no flames, please. I don't like flames... Thanks, as always, to Teakwood for his beta-ing, and for convincing me that I don't need fifty million rewrites on every chapter. We're almost at the end of Redcliffe and moving on to the next task!

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Arcanum: Fatum

Chapter Eighteen: Conscription

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She knew, this time, that she was in the midst of a dream. A true dream, not one created by the whims of a demon determined to twist her mind into submission. There was an element of blurriness to outlines, a certain echoing quality to voices and sounds that betrayed the not-quite-real qualities.

She stood in a dark, circular room lit only by torches set into wall sconces, the primary furnishing a large round table. Tapestries hung from the wall, massive griffons detailed in the center of what must have been an expanse of blue, but the muted tone of the dream washed all color to shades of grey.

Two men stood at this table, a massive map stretched out across it. Thedas, she realized, but more than half of the continent was blacked out, massive charcoal scrawls covering the parchment. One of the men was big and burly, with long flaxen hair tied back with a strip of leather, a full beard adorning his jaw. The other was a redhead, his skin just as fair as his companions, his own hair done in two thin braids that tied behind his head with only light stubble on his cheeks. Both wore cloaks of fur lining and heavy armor.

"The time has come," the blonde man said abruptly, his eyes remaining on the map before him. "If we fail at this, then all of Thedas will be doomed. We are throwing everything that we have into this battle now."

"This is madness," the redhead said, shaking his head. "Allow us to perform the ritual now – take us into battle with you! The greater your numbers…"

"The greater our casualties," the blonde said quietly. "No. You and the others must remain untainted. We do not yet know what will happen when he falls. Someone must remain alive to carry on our name and Order."

"You speak of death as if it were certainty."

The blonde pressed his lips together, his expression grave as he regarded his companion. "We are facing a god of corruption, Svein. To speak of death in any other way would be foolish and guarantee our failure." He shook his head. "This was not a decision any of us came to lightly, but it is inevitable. We can feel the taint and corruption moving through our own bodies; the oldest of us have but months left on our lives. And we all agree we'd rather die on the battlefield than as invalids in a bed."

Svein looked down at the map, reaching out to trace the edge of one of the remaining clear areas. "If it dies here…this land will never recover."

"No," the other man confirmed. "The taint and corruption will soak deep into the ground, killing all vegetation, and it is like as not that nothing will grow there for decades to come. But it is our last chance. If we do not succeed, Thedas will not last the year."

"'And the angel shall spread his wings,'" Svein said softly, "'and all shall fall silent before his might.'"

"'And so shall his resting place be evermore a silent plain,'" the blonde intoned.

Yllia wrapped her arms around herself as she felt cold. Those words meant something – she just didn't have a clue what. Who were these men? The griffon on the tapestries, their talk of taint and corruption – were they Grey Wardens? But they spoke of the Blight as if it had been ongoing for many years. She knew from her studies that previous Blights had often lasted impossible lengths of time, over two hundred years for the First, but the Fifth had only just begun.

The two men rose from the table then and headed for the door, and the scenery around Yllia shifted. The war room warped and twisted, and suddenly she found herself in a cavern, standing before a massive steel door. Dwarven steel, the thought whispered through her mind, but she knew not where the words came from. She only knew that they were true.

The redhead stood before the doors, and to his left was not the blonde this time, but an elf clad in silver armor with a sword on his back. The elf had his hand extended, palm up, and an orb of light floating just above his palm to illuminate the vault door before them.

The door was like nothing Yllia had ever seen before – two massive hulks of steel set in a stone wall, the ends seamlessly sealed together by a circular metal plate that sported six round indentations around the circumference.

"Just standing before this gives me the chills," the elf whispered in a clear Dalish accent.

"Me as well, my friend," Svein replied. "Remember what we spoke about. No one is to know of this outside of our circle."

"Of course. Even if I were to break the vow, I doubt anyone would believe me."

Svein smiled humorlessly, then reached into his cloak to withdraw a carefully wrapped sphere. Deftly he released the ties holding the wrapping closed, letting the fabric fall away.

In his hand lay a brilliant white orb of shifting, effervescent light.

"By the Creators," the elf whispered, his eyes growing wide as he stared at the orb. "I can feel its power…how can something so pure come from one so corrupted?"

Svein held the orb between his hands, looking down at it. "Many men gave their lives for this to be born," he said quietly. "It falls on us, now, to ensure their sacrifices were not in vain."

"We will likely be dead before Zazikel rises," the elf murmured. "How can we be certain our brethren will see this through to the end?"

"We cannot," Svein said simply. "We can only set the wheel in motion, and pray that they shall follow in our tracks." He stepped towards the door and reached up, placing the glowing orb against one of the indents. It slipped in easily, held firmly in place. The orb pulsed once, then dimmed until the light flared only in the very center.

It looked like the eye of a dragon.

Svein stepped back to stand alongside the elf, the two of them looking at the door for a moment. "Come," Svein finally said after a long period of silence. "There is much still left to do…and I would rather put this place behind me."

The two left, and Yllia prepared for the dream (vision? memory? hallucination?) to change. It did not; it remained as it was, the dragon's eye staring unseeingly into the cavern, the empty spaces for five more around it lending to the already ominous atmosphere.

And then the orb moved. The 'pupil' of the eye focused fully on Yllia, the white light within shining just a touch more brightly than before. In an instant she could feel herself drawn to it, moving closer to the door, her eyes focused on the orb and the orb alone. It pulsed as she drew near, and in the back of her mind she thought she could hear the soft hum of a low, single note endlessly drawn out.

She reached up her hand towards the orb.

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

"It's been over an hour."

The flat tone of the templar echoed in the otherwise silent room. The words had a ripple effect through the room, ranging from minor worry from those who didn't understand the purpose of the declaration to alarm and almost-panic from those who did and actually cared about the outcome. The templar had his hand resting lightly on the end of his sword, his fingers drumming absently against the hilt as he looked around the room with – Alistair was sure of it – a bit of glee at the distress apparent on some of their faces.

"This is not a Harrowing, Ser Cormac," Irving spoke up, looking at the templar sternly. "Nor is Yllia under the jurisdiction of the Circle any longer. I believe Knight-Commander Greagoir was very clear that any decisions were to be left up to Grey Wardens." Irving nodded in Alistair's direction; Cormac scowled deeply and glowered.

"What are they going on about now?" Morrigan muttered under her breath, and Alistair took no pride in understanding a conversation that Morrigan did not. He knew what they were referring to, and he gave Cormac a fierce look of warning. If the templar so much as took a step towards Yllia he was going to have to answer to Alistair.

"Give her time," Jowan said, speaking up for the first time since he'd performed the ritual. He glanced up, just barely tilting his head, peeking at them all through his shaggy, unkempt bangs. "Just…give her time, please. She can do this, I know she can." Then he quickly dropped his gaze back down to Yllia's prone form, wringing his hands together in front of him. Alistair could read the tension in the other mage's shoulders, and clenched his jaw tightly.

I shouldn't have let her do this, he thought anxiously. I should have insisted one of the other mages do it – this sounds far more like it'd be up Morrigan's alley. Why hasn't she woken up yet? She should be…

The fingers of Yllia's right hand twitched, curling and uncurling in a slow, deliberate movement. Alistair held his breath, then let it out in a rush when finally her eyes fluttered open, staring incomprehensively up at the ceiling. Ser Cormac's hand moved towards his sword again – and stopped when he felt the weight of Sten's severe gaze. Alistair might not completely trust the Qunari warrior, but at least there was comfort in knowing that he took his declarations of loyalty seriously. Cormac remained where he was.

Yllia closed her eyes briefly, and when they reopened there was far more alertness and clarity in them. "Ow," she said plainly. "I wouldn't be opposed to a health potion right around now."

Alistair hurried forward at the same time Jowan knelt beside her, and together the two of them helped her to sit up. She held onto them for a moment as she took a steadying breath and staved off vertigo, then looked around the room slowly until her eyes came to rest on Isolde and Teagan.

"The demon is dead," she said. "Find Connor and check on him."

Isolde needed no prompting. Without so much as a thank you – which Yllia hadn't been expecting anyway – the arlessa turned on her heel, her skirt spinning around her legs, and ran from the room. Teagan lingered, equal parts astonishment and relief visible in his eyes. "It's dead, truly?" he asked. "It won't come back?"

Yllia shook her head wearily. "No – it's gone for good," she said. "We can talk about it later – right now your nephew probably needs you, Bann Teagan." And she wanted a nap. A nice, long nap…maybe for a week. Or more. More would be nice.

Teagan nodded, looking as if years of weight had just been lifted off of his shoulders. "Thank you, Warden," he said, voice thick with emotion.

"Are you all right?" Alistair asked softly, looking at Yllia in concern. He had one hand on her back and the other on her arm, and on the other side of her Jowan mimicked the position.

Yllia managed a light smile. "I've been worse," she quipped. Seeing the worry in the eyes of both men she hastily added, "I'll be fine once I get a meal and some rest. I want to make sure Connor is okay."

"You can do that after your meal and rest," Wynne said firmly as she joined them. "I'm sure the Bann won't object to your taking a room for a bit?" She gave Teagan a look so stern and matronly that he immediately nodded in the affirmative, sending one of the few remaining maids to the kitchen to see what remained of the food stock.

"Alistair, go ahead and take her to the guest quarters on the second floor – do you know which one I mean?" Teagan asked.

Alistair nodded, and before Yllia could voice a protest, he leaned down and caught her under the knees, sweeping her up into his arms. She let out a soft squeak of surprise, one hand gripping the front of his armor as she suddenly found herself off the ground. "Warn me before you do that!" she hissed at him, blushing profusely.

"But it's more fun when I don't," Alistair said with a grin, which just made her blush deepen.

A sudden gasp of pain to their right wiped the blush clean away, and Yllia snapped her head over to see that Cormac had walked up and seized one of Jowan's arms, rough enough to make the weakened mage wince. Jowan looked at Yllia, the fear and panic in his eyes clear. Cormac had a reputation among the Circle mages – and it wasn't a pleasant one.

"What are you doing?" Yllia demanded, her own eyes widening. "Leave him alone!"

Cormac gave a derisive snort and looked with her scornfully. "You might be a Grey Warden, mage, but this one is a maleficar wanted by the Chantry. Now that this sodding ritual is done, we'll be taking him back to the Tower."

Yllia opened her mouth to protest, but a new voice cut in, this one laced with irritation. "In case you've forgotten, Ser, the mage Jowan is currently under the jurisdiction of Redcliffe," Teagan said, glaring at the bulkier templar with a determined set of his jaw. "His crimes against my brother the Arl take precedent over his return to the Tower, and I'll not be relinquishing him into your custody until a proper punishment has been determined for him by Redcliffe."

Cormac stared at Teagan incredulously. "Are you daft?" he asked. "He's a mage and a maleficar, and he's the property of the Chantry!" Morrigan muttered something under her breath behind Alistair and Yllia; Leliana quickly shushed her. "We have first claim on him, not Redcliffe! And what does it matter? Surely the punishment we deliver will be more than fitting for the crimes he committed here."

Alistair felt Yllia tense further in his arms when Teagan didn't immediately offer a counterargument. Jowan was growing paler by the moment – an impressive feat considering how pale the man already was – and he looked as if he were just minutes away from collapsing where he stood. His expression almost made Alistair feel sorry for the mage. Almost. The man was, after all, responsible for Arl Eamon's comatose state and at least partially responsible for Connor's possession.

Teagan started to speak, but whatever decision he was about to make was lost in the words of another voice that spoke over his, one full of determination and challenge.

"The Grey Wardens claim the mage for their own."

All eyes swiftly focused on the elvhen woman in Alstair's arms. Alistair himself stood still, eyes wide with shock and lips slightly parted as he tried to process what Yllia had just announced. No one was more shocked and surprised, however, than the templar and mage who stood in front of them.

"What?" Cormac asked, giving Yllia an incredulous look. "You must be…you can't do that!"

Yllia shifted in Alistair's arms, the sudden adjustment of weight forcing him to set her on her feet to avoid dropping her on her rear. The diminutive elf drew herself up to her full height and put her hands on her hips. "Actually," she said, "I can. I'm a Grey Warden, and the Wardens have the right to conscript whoever they wish." She gave Cormac a rather smug look. "Not even the templars can deny them."

Cormac's eyes flashed with anger, his expression growing dangerous as he took a step forward. "Why you impertinent little…" He stopped short when Rhys muscled his way in front of Yllia with a menacing growl and Alistair moved in closer behind her. Cormac's upper lip curled in his disgust, but he remained where he was. "We'll just see what the Knight-Commander has to say about this!"

"I believe the Knight-Commander will say nothing about it," Irving said mildly. "The laws regarding conscription are quite clear. If the Grey Wardens claim Jowan, then Jowan they get."

Ser Cormac clenched his jaw, and then turned to the one person he thought might prove to be an ally. "Bann Teagan," he said, "surely you cannot support this – as you said, this blood mage has committed crimes against your own family."

Teagan met Cormac's gaze steadily, and then met the challenging look in Yllia's eyes.

The Bann held up his hands and shook his head. "I will not interfere with the Grey Wardens," he said. "In particular the Warden responsible for saving my nephew's life. If the Grey Wardens are taking the blood mage, then Redcliffe has no choice but to drop its claim on him."

Cormac's mouth opened and closed, reminding Alistair of a gasping fish that he'd once caught in a river. His cheeks flushed with angry color; he snapped his mouth shut and clenched his jaw with the full force of a glare at Yllia. Then he released Jowan roughly, sending the mage staggering to maintain his balance, turned on his heel and began to bark orders to the other templars to prepare for immediate departure as he strode from the room.

Yllia reached out and caught Jowan by the arm, letting him lean against her. "Are you all right?" she asked softly.

Jowan took a deep breath, then gave a shaky nod. Yllia squeeze his arm lightly, then raised her head to look at both Irving and Teagan. To Alistair she spared no glance. "This man is no longer a prisoner, but a Warden recruit," she said daringly. There was a ghost of a smile on Irving's face and a slight nod – there was clearly no sign of opposition from the First Enchanter in regards to this new development.

Teagan looked rather more guarded on the matter. "Warden," he ventured, "as grateful as I am to your assistance with Connor, this man is still responsible for my brother's current condition…"

Jowan flinched; Yllia nodded. "I'm aware of that, Bann Teagan," she said, "and I'll take full responsibility from Jowan while we're here. I hope your offer of hospitality won't be rescinded…?"

Teagan gave her an admonishing look. "I'm a man of my word, Warden Yllia," he said. "Redcliffe will see you resupplied and refreshed. My only stipulation is that the mage not be left unattended while he is within the limits of this castle and the village, and that two of our guards continue to be posted outside of his door during your time here." He pressed his lips together. "And…if possible, he should be kept away from Isolde."

Jowan shrank back slightly at the mention of the arlessa's name, and Yllia gave his arm another squeeze. "I understand," she said to Teagan with a nod. "He'll be with one of us at all times, I promise."

Teagan could do nothing more than to nod at that point. "Then I'll leave Alistair and Ser Perth to show you to the rooms you can use," he said. "I need to see to my nephew and brother now." He looked at Alistair and gave a slight nod, and Alistair returned it with a tight, strained smile.

"Thank you, Bann Teagan," Yllia murmured, and then turned to look at Alistair, relief in her eyes.

Relief that faltered when she met Alistair's gaze. Her eyebrows drew together in troubled confusion, and Alistair wasn't surprised - his feelings were probably lain bare for all of them to see. "Alistair…?"

"We need to talk," Alistair said bluntly. "Ser Perth, can you take care of the rest of our companions?"

"Of course," the guard captain said with a nod, motioning to Leliana and the others to follow him. The red-haired woman cast a hesitant glance in Alistair and Yllia's direction, punctuated by the piercing glare that Morrigan was fixing on Alistair. He ignored it. There were more important things for him to focus on right now.

"Yllia…?" Jowan eyed Alistair warily, edging a touch closer to her.

"Go with the others, Jowan," Yllia said, her eyes staying on Alistair. "Leliana, can you make sure he gets something to eat…?"

"Of course," Leliana said softly, coming over and touching Jowan's shoulder lightly. With a smile to Yllia and another uncertain look to Alistair, she led the other mage back towards the group.

Alistair turned on his heel and walked out of the room with purposeful steps, leaving Yllia to catch up to him, her earlier exhaustion forgotten in her worry over Alistair's sudden mood change. She couldn't remember seeing such an expression in his eyes before, much less directed at her. It was a startling reminder of how short a time she'd really known the other Grey Warden, and she couldn't suppress the uneasy feeling working its way through her.

She followed him to the second floor, and they stopped in front of a door at the end of one hall. Alistair fumbled with the door for moment, then shoved it open and motioned for her to go in. Once she had, he shut the door behind them and lowered the bar. Yllia braced herself; it felt as if she were watching the calm before a storm, and that storm was going to roar in at any moment.

And roar it did. The moment the bar was settled Alistair spun around with a look of pure anger on his face. "What are you doing?" he demanded. "You can't just throw around the Warden's conscription for no reason like that! Sure, we're allowed to use it on whoever we want and no one is allowed to object, but we aren't supposed to abuse that power!"

Yllia's eyes widened, her lips parting in shock at his outburst. "You're…" Her cheeks flushed suddenly. "Well, what you have had me do?" she countered. "If he was left to Redcliffe he'd be executed – if he were sent to the Circle, he'd either be executed or made Tranquil! Was I just supposed to stand by and let it happen?"

"He nearly killed Connor, and Arl Eamon might still die!" Alistair snapped angrily. "If he does, then you'll have just conscripted a murderer!"

"Don't care him that!" Yllia snapped fiercely, her eyes flashing with an inner fire. "He didn't force Connor to become possessed, and you heard him yourself – he was coerced into poisoning the arl by Teyrn Loghain. He was scared, Alistair. Scared and lost in a world that he knows nothing about. He was brought to the Circle when he was three years old. Three, Alistair! He's never known anything about the outside world. He was a Chantry-born orphan who was delivered to the Circle at the very first hint that he had magic. At least you were old enough to know what you were missing when the Templars took you in – Jowan never even had a chance."

"He's a blood mage, Yllia."

She bristled at his tone. "And that automatically makes him evil incarnate?" she asked. "Is that you talking, Alistair, or the Templars? Didn't you tell me when we met that you didn't agree with the way the templars treated mages? Isn't that why you said you were glad to be conscripted into the Wardens – which, excuse me for pointing out, aren't exactly made up of paragons of virtue? I distinctly remember Duncan telling me himself that the Wardens count blood mages among their ranks…hell, the Joining is practically a blood magic ritual all its own. Blood magic isn't evil, Alistair. It's what mages do with it the makes it evil!"

She saw Alistair flinch and took a certain amount of pride in it – she'd just paraphrased what Alistair had told her the day they'd met, his reasoning for leaving the templars. He struggled for a response, for a way to get the argument back on some sort of solid footing. His jaw clenched when he found one.

"You say blood magic isn't evil, but it comes from demons," Alistair countered. "And demons are evil – they embody evil at its core! Look at what the demon possessing Connor did!"

Yllia closed her eyes and took a deep breath. This was not the time for Magic 101, but she desperately wanted Alistair to understand. "Yes, demons are the primary source of blood magic knowledge, Alistair," she said, opening her eyes and looking steadily into his, "but the magic doesn't come from them. Blood magic originates from within the caster – from their blood. Usually mages get the knowledge of it from demons, being forced to make a pact with them in order to obtain it – that's how an abomination is formed.

"But blood magic itself can be taught from various sources, just like any school of magic. There even used to be books on it! I…I don't know how Jowan came to learn blood magic, Alistair, and I have every intention of asking him… but I won't condemn him for something that he did in a fit of desperation! Jowan's not a bad person, Alistair. He's not power hungry, he's not evil, he's just…he's scared." She looked up at him pleadingly. "Please, Alistair. I failed him once, I can't do it again."

Alistair looked at her, an array of emotions flickering in his hazel eyes – anger and frustration warring with sympathy and uncertainty. Finally he let out a sigh, shaking his head and pushing his hand through his hair. "Fine," he said shortly. "I'm not going to be able to change your mind anyway. But you do realize that you've just conscripted someone without any knowledge of how to perform a Joining, right? And I've only stood at ceremony, I've never actually prepared for it."

At the mention of the Joining, Yllia felt herself pale. She hadn't considered the deadly ritual when she'd made her declaration. Her throat tightened as she realized that by conscripting Jowan, she was forcing him to undergo a ritual that could very likely result in his death. It was no better an option than what the templars had in store for him.

Except he'd still have a chance, she thought. Arl Eamon – or Arlessa Isolde should her husband fail to recover – would likely execute Jowan for his role in the events at Redcliffe. The templars would make him Tranquil because of his blood magic. Only with the Grey Wardens, and the Joining, did Jowan have any hope of survival. Even if it was a slim one, she still had to give him that chance.

"There're no rules that say a Joining has to be done immediately, are there?" she asked, attempting to keep her tone light. "When the Wardens do it is our business alone, right?"

Alistair sighed. "Right," he relented. "We can claim a lack of resources right now, but if you plan on keeping him away from the templars for good it's going to have to happen eventually."

"I know. We'll cross that bridge when we get to it, though. I just can't stand by and do nothing." She looked down for a moment, then lifted her head and reached out to touch his arm. "Thank you, Alistair."

To her surprise, Alistair took a step back, pulling his arm away. "Don't thank me yet," he said quietly. "I don't trust him, and I can't forget his part in everything that's happened here, Yllia. Arl Eamon is on his deathbed, and he wouldn't be there if your friend hadn't spooned poison into his drink."

Yllia's hand dropped to her side. "Right," she said softly. "I understand."

Alistair nodded slightly, and then turned towards to door. "I'll leave you to eat and rest," he said over his shoulder. He started to push the door open – then hesitated. "Thank you for helping Connor, Yllia." Then he was gone, the door sliding shut behind him.

Yllia sat down on the edge of the bed, suddenly feeling weary in so many ways. Once again her impulsiveness had caused another tangle in the already complicated web of her life. Alistair's words, his tone of voice…had she salvaged Jowan's friendship only to lose Alistair's?

She hoped not. Alistair was the first person outside of the Circle to truly accept her. To talk with her as if she were a normal person, not a mage, not something tainted by the so-called curse of magic. She could cast her spells in front of him and he wouldn't flinch; she could talk about her life in the Tower and he would understand. He trusted her, and the thought of losing that trust was a chilling prospect for her.

The ironic thing was, if not for Jowan's blood magic, she had a feeling the two of them could get along.

A light knock on the door signaled the arrival of a tray of food, which Yllia quietly accepted, but when she looked at the meal she found that her appetite had gone from ravenous to nonexistent. She set the tray aside and stretched out on the bed, staring up at the planked ceiling above. All at once she could feel the heavy blanket of exhaustion wash over her, her mind and body both growing lethargic as the strain of the events of the past several days at last took their toll upon on. A few moments later she drifted into a deep sleep, slipping beyond the reach of dreams.

Save for the fleeting remembrance of a glowing eye that soon faded away into nothing.

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

Far beneath Ferelden, the dragon raised his head high and screamed into the desolate darkness.