Disclaimer: Bioware owns Dragon Age, not I. How sad.

Author's Notes: So, I wasn't paying attention, and realized that last month marked the one year anniversary of when I started posting Arcanum, as well as the one year anniversary of my return to writin fanfiction. Not bad, eh? Or so I thought, until I realized it's been a year and I only have twenty chapters of Fatum done. Oh, well! You're all still reading it, so that makes it worth it methinks. :) I want a give a special thanks to everyone who has followed, favorited, and reviewed Fatum in the past year - your encouragement means a lot to me. Also, for anyone who has been following (if a single chapter posted can bean it's being followed) by story Forever, have no fear - I am working on the next chapter. That's a considerably shorter piece that Arcanum, though, so it's got a lesser priority on my update schedule. Please be patient with me. ^.^

So - how about that news today of Dragon Age 3: Inquisition before formally announced? Pretty awesome, huh? Well...I think so, but then I'm a total nerd for Dragon Age, and I'm holding out hope for Cullen being a companion *and* a romance. There are certainly enough valid story reasons for them to go that route. I'm sure we've still got a ways to go before the game comes out, and I'd rather they take their time instead of rush it, so I'll be patient. Sort of. As patient as I *can* be, anyway. In the meantime I'll keep working at Arcanum. :D

Thanks to my beta, Teakwood, for letting me pester him into reading this even when he has a million things to do, and for lisakodysam, for taking time out of her own writing schedule in order to read my story. And now, enough rambling! On with the story!

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Arcanum: Fatum
Chapter Twenty: Omen Realized

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"There. I have brought you to her – now you must keep your end of the bargain."

The words registered dimly, so faint and distant that Yllia decided that they must have been nothing more than a product of her own imagination and a part of her dream. She curled up around her pillow, trying to keep herself in that hazy black realm between Fade and reality, seeking out a few more hours of unhindered sleep. She wasn't ready to open her eyes and face the next day.

Something long, wet, and rough slid across her face.

Yllia's eyes snapped open, and she managed to get her hand up and on the mabari muzzle that was leaning in for another lick just before could make contact again. "Rhys!" she exclaimed. "No! Down! How did you get in here?" She was positive the mabari hadn't been in her room when she'd fallen asleep, so how had he…

Her eyes went over to the now open door, and at the mage leaning against it, an expression of permanently affixed boredom upon her face. "Morrigan?" Yllia asked in confusion. "But I locked the door, how did you…you know what? Never mind."

Morrigan smirked; there was no other word to describe the expression on her face. "There are few doors that I cannot find my way through," she replied cryptically. "As for the beast, he was pacing back and forth outside the locked door, keening softly in his incessant tones in an attempt to be allowed inside. And so we struck a deal, that I would grant him passage if he would rouse you from your slumber."

"A deal, huh?" Yllia looked back to Rhys, who was wagging the stub of his tail so hard that his entire rear end was wiggling back and forth along with it. She felt a stab of guilt, and reached out to ruffle his ears. "Sorry boy," she murmured. "Didn't mean to lock you out." Alistair hadn't been kidding when he'd said that the bond between a mabari and its master was stronger than anything.

"I might suggest you not let it happen again," Morrigan said mildly. "I can't imagine that our esteemed hostess will be too thrilled to find the gouges in the wood of the door." She looked as if she'd just tasted something foul.

"I'll keep that in mind," Yllia said with a wince, seeing the evidence of the damage herself on the open door. She gave Rhys a look of exasperation; he just stood there panting happily and clearly looking proud with himself at having completed the bargain that he'd struck with Morrigan. The patented happy dog look eventually drew a soft laugh from the elf mage, and she reached out to ruffle his ears in affection.

When the mabari had had enough and got settled on the floor next to the bed for a nap, Yllia turned back to Morrigan. "You don't normally handle wake up calls, so I assume you wanted to talk to me about something? And it's not something you can do in front of the others?"

"Quite." The dark-haired woman nodded, stepping further into the room and closing the door behind her. "'Tis something that I would prefer to keep between the two of us. I expect that you're the only one likely to understand what I must speak with you about at any rate, being a fellow mage."

"Wynne's a mage, too," Yllia pointed out.

"And already proving herself to be something of a self-righteous busybody," Morrigan replied in dry tones. "She, I suspect, would break a vow of silence in an instant if it went against her moralistic views, regardless of the consequence. You, I believe, are a bit more pragmatic than that."

Her choice of words made Yllia cautious, and she looked at the other woman with a slight frown on her face. "Did you come to that conclusion because of Jowan?"

"In part," Morrigan admitted, and Yllia didn't bother trying to hide her surprise – she'd half-expected Morrigan to sidestep the issue. "Most would have taken his blood mage status as the final nail in his coffin, so to speak – you, on the other hand, spoke up in defense of him and even protected him with your conscription. I have heard the murmurs throughout the castle, particularly among those Circle mages and templars who still remain here; the reactions to your choice are mixed, and not in a pleasant way."

Yllia sighed. "Let me guess," she said dryly. "Half of them think that I'm either crazy-mad for conscripting a blood mage – or, if it's from the mages, for conscripting a mage who hasn't even been Harrowed and can't hold a fire spell for less than sixty seconds without burning his fingers. The other half is probably accusing me of being a blood mage myself, suspecting me of making a pact with Connor's demon."

"That does about sum it up, yes," Morrigan said with a nod. "You certainly do not appear to be their favorite mage at present."

Yllia laughed, her eyes twinkling impishly. "I never was," she said. "Elven prejudice is as alive and well in the Circle as it is everywhere else, and my best friends…well, outcast by association and all that." Her expression grew subdued and then quickly shuttered it, pushing back thoughts that she neither wanted nor had time to dwell on. Her hand went to her neck automatically, but instead of meeting the cold silver that had hung around it for so long she found only the slim vial of blood that served as a constant reminder of how much her life had changed in such a short amount of time.

"And you simply accept this?" Morrigan asked with a slight raise of her eyebrow. "Despite being the reason that they all live now?"

Yllia shrugged. "What matters to me are the opinions of the people I keep close, not the ones I know only as faces. The freedom to live my life the way I choose to has always been more important than the popularity given to me by people I don't know."

"Yet here you are, a Grey Warden, put on this path by circumstance," Morrigan replied. "Would you say that this was a path chosen?"

Yllia shifted uncomfortably. "I had a choice," she said. "I could have refused to take Duncan's offer, or refused the Joining. Granted, the other alternatives sucked, but I still made the choice. And I could have chosen to disappear, to try to get out of Ferelden as fast as possible instead of stick around and fight this Blight. Again, not the best choices, but…you see where I'm going with this." She lifted her head to meet Morrigan's amber-eyed gaze steadily. "There's always a choice. Some of them are just a lot easier to make than others."

"And what of your friend?" Morrigan inquired. "Will he get the same choice, now that you've decided to conscript him into your Wardens?" The way that Morrigan posed the question made Yllia uneasy; did she know, despite it being the well-guarded secret Alistair and Duncan had both claimed, what would happen to recruits who refused or failed the Joining? The panicked, desperate image of Jory's face, the twisted pain and wide-eyed stare of Daveth's, both flashed across Yllia's mind unbidden. And then it wasn't their faces she was seeing at all, but Jowan, and she gave an uncontrollable shudder as she swallowed by the bile.

Could she force Jowan into going through the Joining without allowing him to understand the risks involved?

Morrigan stared at her, watching the bare emotions that were playing across Yllia's face. "Oh for…do not get that look on your face," she said with clear aggravation. "You look as though I just told you your dog had drowned in the lake." Rhys gave her an affronted look, and she ignored him. "I was not criticizing your methods. You could hardly have done anything more, and 'tis certainly a better option than hanging him over to that great lug of a templar. Though certain survival is always preferable, a chance is better than none at all."

The bereaved expression that had startled Morrigan so much began to fade, and the corners of Yllia's mouth twitched with a touch of humor. "Why, Morrigan," she said with feigned lightness, "you're not concerned, are you?"

The other woman's eyes widened, and then instantly narrowed in a scowl. "Of course not," she said abrasively, almost harsh enough to draw notice away from the twin spots of pink on her cheeks. "But you are leading this ragtag band that we've assembled, and if I am to accompany you then I would rather you not drown yourself in second guesses and uncertainty. Alistair emasculates himself enough for all of us as is." She waved her hand dismissively. "But this was not why I came to speak with you. You recovered several items from the Circle Tower when you were there, did you not?"

The abrupt subject change made Yllia raise an eyebrow. "Some things," she admitted. "I suppose I should have left them behind for the Circle, but I honestly wasn't thinking about it at the time. Most of it was potions and ingredients, but there were a few other items as well."

"You didn't have to retrieve an old grimoire, by any chance?"

Yllia stared at Morrigan. "You…might need to be a bit more specific about that," she said. "This was the Circle we're talking about. Grimoires tend to grow on trees."

Another scowl, but Morrigan complied. "The grimoire in question would be the size of a standard tome," she said, bringing her hands together to show an approximation, "'Tis bound in black leather, and possesses the image of a tree burnished into the cover."

Yllia frowned. "I'm not sure…no, wait. Maybe…" She got up and went over to her pack, tugging it open and rooting around inside of it. "Let's see…huh. I didn't think I'd picked up that much, but I guess I was wrong."

Items began to come out of the bag, some of the carelessly piled, but a few she was careful with, examining them closely. The first was a white stone with a rune carved into it, which she turned over in her hand. "All the enchantment's out of this, but maybe Alistair would like it," she mused thoughtfully before setting it aside. "And this, Leliana might like…" to a Chantry amulet charred around the edges. Next came out a portrait boasting some water-stains, which Yllia frowned over slightly before setting it aside with a shrug. "I'll figure something out." A few random herbs and potions, and then a book that appeared to have seen better days. "The 'Rose of Orlais'? Why did I…?" And then, "What in the world am I going to do with a gold bar this small?"

Morrigan stared at the growing piles around her. "Precisely how much do you carry around in there?" she asked in disbelief.

"I like collecting things," Yllia said cheerfully. "If I've got room for it there's no reason to leave it lying on the floor. Aha!" With a note of triumph she pulled two more items out of the bag and stood up. One, she tossed to Rhys, and the dog instantly pounced on the bone – a bone, Morrigan noted, that still had a shoulder of beef attached.

The second she brought over to Morrigan. "Is this what you're looking for?" she asked quizzically.

Morrigan quickly took the tome for her, affecting a nonchalant expression as she examined the cover, touching her fingers to the tree briefly before opening it to examine the contents. After a moment her eyes widened, and Yllia could not ignore the delight that she saw in her expression. "This is it," she said. "Yes…yes, I'm certain of it. 'Tis precisely what I was looking for."

"You should have told me you were looking for something from the Tower," Yllia said, pleased that she'd actually managed to do something right in the eyes of the other mage. "I almost passed it up – I found it in Irving's office." She looked sheepish. "I probably shouldn't have taken it, he had it locked up, but I just…"

"Could not resist?" Morrigan finished. "'Tis understandable, as you had no way of knowing if he even lived or not at that point. I would certainly have not passed up on an item of this caliber, had it been me instead of you."

"What's so special about this grimoire, anyway?" Yllia asked, curious despite herself. It was her one vice – when something piqued her interest, she had a tendency to latch onto it and shake it until every last piece of stuffing had come out. She'd driven the tranquil who managed the Circle libraries rather insane with her habits – or she would have, if the tranquil could be driven mad. Usually they just reprimanded her, day after day, about putting away the dozens of books that she pulled down from the shelves instead of leaving them strewn about as she usually did. From her instructors the reactions had ranged from affectionate admonishment to out and out exasperation.

For a moment Morrigan didn't respond, her eyes visibly tracking as they moved over the parchment pages. Just as Yllia was beginning to think that Morrigan had no intention of sharing information about what she held in her hand and had very well even forgotten that Yllia was there, the other mage closed the book with a look of triumph on her face.

"This book," she said, looking at Yllia, "once belonged to my mother."

Yllia stared at her, and then at the grimoire she was holding. "Your mother?" she repeated in disbelief. "Flemeth? But…how in the world would something like that end up in the hands of the Circle of Magi? I'd think she'd keep her grimoire under lock and key!"

"I know not the exact circumstances as to how this particular volume ended up in the hands of the First Enchanter," Morrigan said, "but Mother has possessed many grimoires over the years. Most of have been destroyed – others are beyond my reach. I discovered the existence of this one by chance, but was only able to trace its location to Kinloch Hold."

Yllia looked at her with interest. "Does Flemeth know that you're looking for her grimoires?"

"Quite likely, given that I have never successfully managed to keep a secret from her during my lifetime," Morrigan replied. She gave an indifferent shrug. "Doubtless she did not expect me to get my hands on any of them, but it matters not. I am likely to find nothing more than theory and commentary, but it will hopefully provide me with some knowledge that she has otherwise deigned to keep to herself. I trust you do not mind if I keep this?"

Yllia tried to quell the sense of longing she felt – an unknown grimoire of Flemeth's? Whether Morrigan's mother was truly the Flemeth or not didn't matter, the woman was clearly capable of great magic and any grimoire of hers had to be ripe with knowledge. But Morrigan was her daughter, had learned her spellcraft under her, and was much more likely to get something out of the grimoire than Yllia ever was. "Go ahead," she said with a shake of her head. "I've got more than enough to carry around as it is. Though…" She clasped her hands in front of her hopefully.

Morrigan gave a slight lift of one eyebrow, and then sighed. "Oh, very well. If I find anything you might find useful, I suppose I might let you have a look at it."

Yllia's eyes lit up, and she actually gave a slight bounce. "Really?" she asked. "Thank you! And I promise I won't bother you about it. I imagine it'll take you awhile to go through it."

"True enough, that," Morrigan acknowledged. "And so I believe I will get started." Without so much as a farewell, Morrigan turned and left the room, leaving Yllia and Rhys alone.

Yllia watched her go, then stretched her arms over her head and turned to her mabari. "Well," she said, resting her hands on her hips, "now that I'm awake and up, I suppose I ought to see if anyone needs me for anything. I don't suppose you want to come with me?"

Rhys wagged his tail, but otherwise didn't look up from the bone that he was currently gnawing into oblivion. Yllia wasn't actually sure if she was even the reason his tail was wagging.

"Right then. I suppose you can find me when you're done." Yllia gave the dog an affectionate smile, then walked over to her pack and took a moment to start putting things back into it. When she picked up the runestone she'd gotten from the Tower she paused, turning it over in her hands. When she'd found it in the Tower Alistair had made a comment of interest, but they'd been attacked by a set of Rage Demons right after, and she'd slipped it into her pack without a second thought.

But now she and Alistair were… well, she didn't know what they were. They'd argued, clearly, but she wasn't really sure if they were still arguing or not, considering the rather ambiguous note that he'd left her room on.

She didn't want to be fighting with Alistair; she knew that much for certain. However, she didn't want to have to choose between her best friend and her… okay, so she didn't know what to call Alistair. Brother wasn't quite right no matter what the Joining ritual said about Grey Wardens – she was fairly certain sisters did not have their hearts race the way that hers did whenever their brothers flashed them a grin. Friend? Well, yes, obviously (at least most of the time), even though they'd only known each other for a handful of weeks at this point. They'd fought together, they'd saved each other's lives, and he'd confided one of his most closely kept secrets to her. That had to qualify them as friends. A misunderstanding wouldn't change that…would it?

Yllia sighed, closing her hand around the runestone and then slipping it into one of the inner pockets of her robes, and then checking to make sure it really was a pocket she'd put it in and not just an erroneous fold in the still-too-big-for-elves hand-me-down she was wearing. As much as she appreciated the emergency use of the robes that Hawke had given her, it occurred to her that she probably ought to see if Bann Teagan would have something she could take with her for when she didn't need magically enhanced clothing.

That reminded her – they were going to need provisions before they could set out again, and not just a restock of food. They were bringing one extra person with them, and Jowan was going to need a change of clothes and his own sleeping arrangement as well. The tents they had were two-person, but the only one Jowan would likely feel comfortable in was her own, and as much as she liked Jowan she equally liked her privacy. There wasn't much of it to be had these days.

It felt wrong to ask Bann Teagan for additional supplies when they would be stretched thin as it was providing for the castle inhabitants and the villagers, but Yllia couldn't see how they had much choice. At least she'd be able to compensate for it; if there was one thing that they had in spades, it was coin. The number of bandits and bounty hunters who had come after them has they'd made their way towards Redcliffe and all been more than kind enough to drop spare coin or, in a few cases, what appeared to be their life savings.

Giving the top of Rhys' head a pat, Yllia rose to her feet and left the room, leaving it slightly ajar so that Rhys could leave when he wanted to. One ear perked, the mabari listened to the sound of her receding footsteps, until he couldn't hear her at all.

Abandoning the bone, Rhys pushed himself to his feet and flatted his ears atop his skull, baring fangs and growling fiercely at the dormant fireplace that stood across from the bed, eyes blazing with anger. Green flames flared up within the confines of the metal grating, and a pair of reptilian eyes stared out from within. They locked with the snarling mabari, blinked once, and vanished.

Rhys didn't move, every muscle taut and posed. He didn't know what the glowing green fire was, but he didn't have to; he would not allow that which lurked within it to come near his mistress.

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Locating Bann Teagan, Yllia quickly determined, had proven to be more difficult than she'd expected. She didn't know her way around Redcliffe Castle, and she didn't feel particularly comfortable snooping in areas she was unfamiliar with. Finally she'd tracked down Ser Perth and explained her dilemma – in turn, the guard captain had escorted her to the Arl's office to wait while he in turn located the Bann for her.

As the door closed with a soft thud behind her, Yllia shook her head with a wry smile. "So they don't want me wandering around the castle without an escort," she said, "but they think nothing of letting me wait alone in the Arl of Redcliffe's personal study." She tapped her foot idly on the ground and looked around.

The room was an opulent sort of rustic, very different from the First Enchanter's office in the Tower. Unlike the preferred décor of the Chantry, which always seemed to like to show off that its coffers through metal and stone were perhaps a bit more full than that of some of the Ferelden nobility (or so Yllia had heard Alistair griping about on occasion), here the primary material for the furnishings was wood. Wooden desk, wooden chairs, wooden shelving – though of fairly high quality. A bearskin rug covered the wooden floor beneath the desk, and heavy drapery hid what appeared to be either a second set of doors or a large window behind the desk itself.

Her curiosity was too much. She walked over and drew back the curtain – and blinked in surprise. There was neither window nor door behind it, but rather a painting instead. A painting of a woman, and it wasn't the Arlessa.

Why would Arl Eamon be hanging a portrait of a woman who was not his wife in his office? Puzzled, she located the rope for the drapery and drew it back so that she could see the painting in a better light. The woman was young – she might be in her early twenties – with long, wavy brown hair and emerald green eyes that somehow managed to sparkle with intellect even through the paint. There was something oddly familiar about her…

Yllia's eyes widened. Of course! The shade of hair that matched Teagan's, the eyes that were so much like Cailan's – this had to be a painting of Queen Rowan, Arl Eamon and Bann Teagan's older sister! Yllia had never seen her, of course – she'd died when Yllia would have just been a child, and being an elf Yllia never would have been in a position to see her any way. She had no doubt about who she was looking at, however.

"It's not particularly polite to snoop, you know."

Yllia jumped and spun around, letting go of the rope and causing the curtain to fall halfway into place. She turned to see Teagan standing behind her. Immediately she flushed with embarrassment at having been caught – she'd been so caught up with examining the painting that she hadn't even heard him come in. "I'm sorry," she immediately apologized. "I just…I saw the curtain, and I couldn't help myself…"

He smiled at her and shook his head. "Please, don't worry about it," he assured her. "The portrait is rarely covered. I suspect one of the maids did it shortly after my brother took ill, to keep it from becoming damaged while the study remained out of use." Teagan looked at the half-shrouded painting, a heart-weary look upon his face. "For the first time I find myself thankful that my sister passed long ago. It would break her heart to know of the events that have most recently come to pass."

Yllia bit her lip. "I'm sorry about your loss, Bann Teagan," she said softly. "I only met King Cailan once, but I know he was well-loved."

Teagan smiled sadly. "By most, at least," he said heavily. "Though it isn't only the death of my nephew I speak of. It is all of this… Rowan loved Ferelden, and its people. If she had lived to see…" His voice trailed off, and then he shook his head. "But that is neither here nor there. You have more important things to do than listening to the ramblings of an old man."

"You're hardly old, Bann Teagan," Yllia corrected. He couldn't have been much past thirty summers, and though that was certainly older than she, it was by no means old. "There are mages in the Tower who would prefer the term experienced."

Teagan chuckled at that, some of the heaviness vanishing from his expression. "Dare I ask what that experience is supposed to be in?" he quipped.

"Depends entirely on how much you know about the goings on in the Circle of Magi," came Yllia's immediate flippant response. The two of them exchanged a brief smile that ignored convention and status. Then Teagan sighed again, and stepped away from Rowan's painting, letting the curtain fall once more into place.

"Ser Perth said that you were asking after me," he said, abruptly changing the subject, "and I can't imagine it was to discuss the past losses of my family."

Yllia shook her head. "No, it wasn't," she said. "I think we'll all agree that the sooner my companions and I are able to move out, the better. We've secured the aid of the mages, but if we're to have any hope of meeting the archdemon's army, we still need to approach the Dalish and the dwarves. And then there's the matter of dealing with Loghain and the increasingly annoying bounty that he's put on my and Alistair's heads."

Teagan looked simultaneously perturbed and disgusted. "I can't figure out what Loghain could be thinking," he said with a shake of his head. "Pulling out the army and leaving Cailan, putting up this ridiculous bounty, sending an assassin to kill my brother… Loghain has always been ruthless in his actions, but he's never been mad, and these can only be the actions of a madman!"

"Or a desperate one," Yllia said softly. She bit her lip. She couldn't help but think back to that night in Ostagar. She and Alistair had been tasked with lighting the beacon atop the tower, a seemingly easy task given that the tower had already been secured. No one had counted on the darkspawn breaking through from the basement and overrunning the tower. They'd gotten the beacon lit…but late. So very late, and Yllia had known from the moment the flames had lit the kindling and set it ablaze.

From the tower window she'd only been able to see Loghain's army. She'd had no way of knowing what was happening on the battlefield itself. Had Loghain's retreat been an act of betrayal – or had it been the act of a man desperate to save what lives he could in a battle already lost? Unfortunately there was only one person who had that answer, and he was far more likely to throw her in prison than he was to answer her questions.

She looked at Teagan. "Bann Teagan, you were in Denerim before coming here to Redcliffe, weren't you? You saw the Teyrn then. Do you think he purposefully betrayed the king at Ostagar?"

"I don't know what to think," Teagan confessed. "Had you asked me before Ostagar I would have said there was no one more loyal to the crown than Loghain Mac Tir. The man had dedicated himself to supporting Ferelden and, more than that, to supporting Cailan and his father before him. He is one of Ferelden's great Heroes. When King Maric disappeared at sea, Loghain personally led the search for him for two years, ending the search only at the insistence of his daughter Anora."

Yllia frowned slightly, doing the mental calculations in her head. "That was…five years ago?" she asked. Even the Circle had gossiped about the King's disappearance. "So Cailan would have been twenty, right?" The same age Alistair was now. "Loghain didn't make any move to claim power at that point?"

Teagan shook his head. "No," he said, "although my brother would claim differently. It's true that a month later Cailan wed Loghain's daughter, Anora – the marriage was heavily contested by many of the nobles, particularly those who also had daughters of marrying age. But Cailan and Anora had been betrothed since they were children, and the match had actually been Maric's idea, not Loghain's, and with Teyrn Bryce Cousland's support the dissenters eventually quieted."

"Why did the nobles disapprove?" Yllia asked in confusion. "I'm no expert on politics, but isn't a Teyrn as high a rank as you can get without being king yourself? I'd think the daughter of a Teyrn would be the perfect match for a prince."

Teagan chuckled. "Oh, without a doubt," he said. "But Loghain was born the son of a farmer, and though he was Teyrn by the time Anora was born, many nobles still held it against them both. Then there was Anora herself – whereas other daughters contented themselves with their dresses and embroidery, Anora was much more likely to be found in armor, learning archery and swordsmanship. She often spent her time in the company of the noble sons rather than the daughters – which might have been scandalous if not for the fact that when you saw them together, you were hard-pressed to see that Anora was a girl at all."

Yllia tried to picture the Queen of Ferelden – whom she had never seen – in the way that Teagan was describing, and found herself rather amused at what her imagination was giving her. "She sounds like the sort of person I might like if I ever met her. What about her personality?"

"Sharp as a tack," Teagan replied instantly. "She inherited her mother's looks, but her mind undoubtedly came from her father's side. I had the misfortune once of being present in Denerim when the two of them found themselves on opposite ends of an argument – to this day I'm still not sure which one of them won."

He steepled his fingers together. "That's another thing that concerns me. I saw Anora only once when I was in Denerim last – during the official proclamation of Cailan's death and Loghain's ascension to Regent. It was Anora who put Loghain up to the position, but… something was off about the entire situation. Normally I would trust her judgment in a heartbeat, but I wonder if she isn't letting her grief over Cailan cloud her mind now."

Teagan sighed. "I know you came here to Redcliffe seeking aid and support from my brother," he said, "and I regret that I can't make you any promises. If my brother were hale and healthy, he alone could give you enough backing to walk into Denerim without fear of arrest, regardless of any bounty. With him on his deathbed the line of succession would normally fall to Connor…"

"But he's been outed as a mage now, and everyone knows mages can't hold titles." Touché, Yllia, is that a hint of bitterness in your voice? When Teagan flinched, she felt instant contrition and shame. This was a man who, in a span of mere days, had had his entire world torn apart. Allowing her personal irritation at the general treatment of magi to be taken out on him was not only inappropriate, it was nearly cruel. She sought to soften her tone. "If the arl doesn't make it, and Connor can't inherit, who would the arling go to, then? Isolde?"

Teagan shook his head. "The arling would pass through right of blood succession," he said, "and so would fall to my shoulders. If that were you happen you can be assured that I would give you my support in an instant, but that isn't a power I have now. And it wouldn't do you nearly the amount of good that having Eamon would – I don't have the political influence or experience that my brother does, and I'm afraid you will need both to face Teyrn Loghain."

"Is there anyone else who would?" Yllia asked anxiously.

Teagan towards the map of Ferelden that hung on one wall; she followed his gaze. "Arl Bryland of South Reach holds no love for Teyrn Loghain," he said, "and both Bann Sighard and Bann Alfstanna are reasonable enough that they would listen before outright rejecting. None of them, however, holds the political clout nor the army that you need. Perhaps if Bryce Cousland still lived…"

Yllia furrowed her brow in confusion. "The Teyrn of Highever?" she asked. "I heard he was executed for treason."

"The day Bryce Cousland plotted treason against the Crown of Ferelden is the day that the Deep Roads become filled with silver and gold," Teagan snapped vehemently. "No one was more loyal to the Crown than Teyrn Cousland – he fought alongside King Maric himself against the Orlesians. I don't know what happened that night in Highever, but I do know this – that we have only Rendon Howe's word of Cousland's treason, and now it is Howe who stands at Loghain's right hand."

He turned back to Yllia, his expression pleading. "Warden Surana…Yllia…I know that I have no right to ask this of you, but I feel I have no other choice. Ferelden is rapidly unraveling, and without a united front we have no hope of driving back the darkspawn. Many nobles refuse to believe that this is a true Blight unless the archdemon shows itself, but I believe that by then it will be too late for us. My brother could convince them otherwise, but only if he survives. Please – if there is anything you can do to save him, I beg of you, it must be done."

It must be done. Teagan was desperate, the same way that Jowan had been that day at Kinloch Hold. And just like then, she found herself helpless to turn him away.

"You just can't turn anyone down, can you? Even if it means you've got to give up your sleep and sacrifice your studies to make sure that other people get theirs."

The memory of the teasing, chiding voice made Yllia's chest tighten and her eyes blur. She closed her eyes, but she couldn't banish it away. The words were right. Whether it was her strongest asset or her greatest flaw, Yllia had never been able to turn down someone who wanted her help.

And it wasn't only that Teagan wanted her help – it was that he was right. If Arl Eamon died, their chances of convincing the nobles that the Blight was real, and that they weren't the traitors Loghain claimed they were, would be next to nothing.

"I'll try to find a way," Yllia promised. "We have a lot of ground to cover to get these treaties filled – don't give up yet, Bann Teagan. Just do everything that you can to keep your brother alive."

Teagan closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "Thank you," he said softly. "Even if nothing comes of it, just knowing that you'll be trying means something." He thought for a moment, and then nodded. "Let me give you something, Yllia. It won't be as good as actually having my brother backing you, but it will help should you find yourself in a tight situation during your travels."

He pulled open a drawer in the desk and began to draw items out of it – paper, quill, inkwells; clearly searching for something. One of the items he set on top of the desk in particular caught Yllia's eye; a silver amulet with Andraste's flame stamped into the metal. There was nothing particularly special about it, though Yllia did notice the web of thin cracks in its surface, as if the amulet had been shattered once and then put back together, but other than that it was just a simple amulet.

And yet still, for some reason she couldn't help but notice it.

"Here it is." Teagan startled her out of her thoughts, and she looked back at him to see him place a wooden block with the Redcliffe seal carved into it. "Take this. Should you run into trouble, this seal will identify you as a compatriot of Redcliffe - it should get you out of some tight situations. Although…"

"Be discrete with using it, in case someone tries to make Redcliffe out to be traitors as well?" Yllia asked dryly. When he flushed a touch, she smiled and held out her hand to take it. "Thank you, Bann Teagan. I'm sure this will come in handy."

"It's the least that I can do," Teagan said sincerely. "And please… only Teagan. You're a Grey Warden – you don't owe any fealty to me.

Yllia's smile widened as she slipped the seal into her robes. "Would it be possible to get a restock of provisions?" she inquired. "We really do need to get going – I'd like to stay for a bit longer to make sure Connor is all right, but I want to get Jowan away from the templars here as quickly as possible, and it'll take us a few days to reach the Brecilian Forest. I hate to impose on you more than I already have, but…" She looked ruefully down at her robes.

"It's not an imposition," Teagan said, shaking his head. "I'm not sure how much we'll be able to offer, but I'm certain we can part with something. Come on. Let's see what we can come up with." He swept the contents of the drawer back inside and rose from the desk, heading for the door with a motion to follow.

She did, though she paused for a moment in the doorway and looked back. The amulet had gone back into the drawer again, but she still couldn't quite shake the feeling that there was something important about it. Whatever it was, though, it didn't come to her. Oh, well…it was probably just her paranoid imagination at work again anyway. After all, what use would she have with an amulet dedicated to Andraste?

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

"Are you certain we cannot stay a bit longer?" Leliana asked, unable to hide her disappointment as she helped Yllia check over the travel packs. They'd managed to secure a few days' extra food, which would serve well for the days when hunting was lean and scarce, and Ser Perth had managed to find them an extra bedroll for Jowan, though no spare tent. Yllia herself had traded in the oversized robes for some light mail, which was a bit more restrictive than she was used to but not too bad – more leather than metal, and she could still use her staff well enough. The cast off robes she'd immediately given to Jowan; he needed a change of clothing more than she did, and they fit him far better than they had her.

"As much as I'd like another day in a real bed," Yllia said, glancing around the courtyard at her gathered companions, "I don't want to lose another day. Finding the Dalish is going to be challenging enough; dealing with them will be another matter entirely."

"You speak as though you have some knowledge of them," Leliana said, giving her a sidelong glance.

"Well," Yllia murmured, "I am an elf." But her focus was already elsewhere. Everyone had gathered in the courtyard – Morrigan stood off to the side, her nose in her mother's grimoire. Sten was towards the gate, decked out in full armor with a greatsword strapped to his back, looking imposing and intimidating even in what Yllia had determined to be his causal stance. Rhys lay at her feet, and a few feet away Jowan stood awkwardly near Wynne, though the two of them weren't even looking at each other. When they had begun gathering earlier, Wynne had drawn Yllia aside and quietly informed her that she and Irving had spoken at length concerning Jowan, and although she didn't say as much Yllia had gathered that Irving had asked Wynne to keep an eye on Jowan during the travels. She wasn't sure how she felt about that – Jowan being a Grey Warden recruit now and no longer under the Circle's jurisdiction – but she wasn't going to make waves in Redcliffe. She didn't want to give the templars any reason to try to interfere, and Cormac was still standing off to the side with a heavy scowl on his face. The templars were waiting for Connor to wake up and be well enough for traveling before returning to Kinloch Hold.

And then there was Alistair. He, like Sten, was also in full armor, though he was lacking the helmet. He was standing with Teagan and Ser Perth, talking to them both in quiet tones. Yllia smiled softly as she looked at him, her eyes sparkling with relief. After seeing to the provisions she'd tracked him down, prepared to apologize and try to come to an understanding with him over Jowan – and to her surprise he'd started with his own apologies before she'd even been able to say a word. Clearing the air between them had lifted a great weight off of her, and though she knew he was still apprehensive about Jowan, she also knew that he was willing to trust her judgment. And that, as far as she was concerned, was worth more than any apology.

She hadn't given him the runestone yet, due to them being interrupted by a rather perturbed-looking Rhys who had apparently been displeased that she hadn't come to find him immediately after leaving Teagan, and then it had been a flurry of activity with tracking everyone down and preparing for departure. She hadn't had a chance to speak with Jowan, either – she hoped to do both when they were able to set up camp that night, hopefully after covering a decent stretch of ground.

Now Alistair was turning towards them, and she started to smile – then paused when she noticed the grim look on his face. "What is it?" she asked, looking at him as he approached. "Alistair? What's wrong?"

Leliana took one look at Alistair's expression, and took a step to the side. "Perhaps I should leave you two to talk," she said. "I can finish checking the supplies."

"No – wait, Leliana. Stay." Alistair shook his head. "You should hear this too."

His tone made Leliana still, and she looked at him with no small amount of concern.

"A couple more Redcliffe guards returned – remember, they were out searching for Andraste's ashes at her request?" Yllia nodded, and Alistair reached up and pushed his hand through his hair. "They brought news from the south. The darkspawn…they've moved further north. There are reports of them all over the Southlands, and a group of them are heading eastwards towards Gwaren. And…" He paused, looking helpless as he struggled to find a way to deliver news that he didn't want to give. "Yllia, Leliana, I'm sorry. Lothering…Lothering is gone."